


THE SWORD OF THE NORTH

by DaThornintheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow knows something, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, R plus L equals J, dorne sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 79,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaThornintheNorth/pseuds/DaThornintheNorth
Summary: The combined armies of the North and their Essosi allies defeated the Night's King in a great battle at Moat Cailin and saved all off Westeros.Yet in what should have been the defining moment of the people, there were those in the south that couldn't let go of the old game and new faces emerged to grip at the iron throne and enslave a dragon.Twelve years later a bitter King in the North begins to exact his revenge.It may be summer, but winter is coming.





	1. Prologue: Small folk, big lives

PROLOGUE:

  
WINTERTOWN 317 AC

  
The night was filled with laughter and songs, drink and good food. Old Harlan set before the hearth and listened to the delightful cries of his grandchildren while they set about a pudding. He felt himself the luckiest man in Westeros. Not many men in the Northern Kingdom could say they'd seen their sixtieth name day. Musing for a moment, he realized he might be the oldest man in the all the North.

Before he turned to darker thoughts, a figure appeared above him. The oldest of his son's brood, Klebb, with a pitcher in his hand.

"Another Grandfather?" said the boy with a slight grin.

"Eh, why not Klebb and pour yourself one too, your old enough as it is."

Klebb filled the offered horn with rich dark ale and found one for himself. Then came and sat before the fire.

"So Klebb, you'll be thirteen soon."

"Aye," said the boy softly, staring into his cup.

"Nervous about the fosterin'?" asked Harlan.

"Not nervous, "the lad took a strong drink from his cup and Old Harlan had to hold back a chuckle when his face scrunched up at the taste, his splash of freckles gathering around his nose. "It's just, there'll be lords there and the like, some say the prince will be beginnin' his fosterin'. I'm not sure if I'll belong."

"Tis not about belongin', lad." Old Harlan chuckled. "All men must serve." He looked up at his little granddaughters gathered at the table. "and girls."  
"But why?" muttered Klebb morosely.

"Because there is honor in servin' and opportunity." Said Old Harlan. "Look at me lad, I born to simple folk on Bear Island and now I'm an Elderman of Wintertown. Our people were destined to make their livin' fishin and now I dispense the king's justice in his name. Your own father and I both served as Kingsguard for a time. The Lords of the south may still call us small, but I've lived a bigger life than most folks can say because I was given the chance to."

"Aye." Said Klebb, the furrow of his brow released and the small smile reappeared. "Maybe I'll get a direwolf, that'd be somethin'"

"Aye, it would." Old Harlan reached over and ruffled the boy's dark locks, earning him a mutinous glare, followed by a loving smile. Klebb was a good strong lad, like his father before him, he'd do well to learn the sword and spear. A direwolf of his own might be a high ambition, but Harlan had seen stranger things in his long life.

"It's nearly time for bed children," announced his good daughter Vala. The children all groaned including Klebb, the granddaughters jumped from the table and moved to the hearth gathering around their grandsire for protection it seemed.

"Awe Vala, tis my name day," said Harlan to his good daughter, then with a conspiratory glance at the littlest Fraya, a shockingly pretty thing of only six, he whispered. "We have not had a story yet have we?"

"No, Papa." Whispered fraya, she leaned into him and gave him a kiss on his whiskers.

"You see, Vala, we have not had a story yet."

His good daughter could only shake her head at him and left the four of them to their story. He pulled Fraya onto his lap and the elder girl Alys curled before the hearth. All three children looking at him expectantly.

"Oh so it's my name day, but I'm to do the tellin', is that it?"

"Yes, grandfather." How they could chorus it together was a marvel, but perhaps it was because they had done it so many times before.

"What shall it be then? The brave sixty-two of Bear Island, Wun Wun the last giant?"

He was met with only giggles.

"We've heard those many times, Papa." Said Alys, even Fraya nodded her agreement.

"What about when your father and I were prisoners of the Dragon Queen in the south surrounded by Dothroki screamers and the queen's mighty sons?"

"You weren't a prisoner, Good father." Called Vala from the other room.

"As good as, they took our ship." Huffed Harlon.

"What about," Klebb started, but stopped himself. The boy looked unsure about whether to continue.

"Go on, Lad." Said Harlan gently.

"The long night, Grandfather, you were there."

Harlan looked across at the boy, then at Alys, he absentmindedly smoothed down the side of Fraya's frock and gathered her closer to himself.

"The true story, Grandfather." Klebb continued.

"You were there too, Klebb, maybe you can tell it." Harlan deflected.

"I was a babe." Laughed the boy.

"Aye, I guess you were." Harlan steeled himself. "Alright then, Lad go upstairs to my room and fetch the parcel you'll find under my pillow. Don't open it, you might cut yourself."

Klebb took the stairs three at a time and Harlan gently placed Fraya next to her sister before the hearth before the boy returned carrying a long thin parcel wrapped in brown leather.

Harlan placed the packaged in his lap and untied the fastenings at either end. From beneath the folds, he pulled a roughly hewn dagger with a black blade that glittered in the firelight.

"Do you know what this is children?" he said, holding the blade up carefully being very watchful of Fraya's notoriously lusty fingers. Even she seemed to sense the danger in the sharp edge.

"Dragonglass," Klebb said with wonder filling his voice.

"That's right, every man woman and child even as young as you Alys, had one of these during the long night. I helped the king mine it, far to the south at Dragonstone. Every time I start to think I dreamed the thing up, I can look at this blade and still see the blue eyes glittering at us in the dark and the sound of the screams when the dead army broke upon our shield wall at Moat Cailin."

All three children shuddered together.

"You shouldn't tell them such stories, Good Father," Vala said sweeping into the room frowning. "Especially before bed. Come, Fraya, Alys. Klebb is nearly a man I cannot stop him from hearing such."

"They should know the truth, Good Daughter, so the mistakes of the past are not repeated," said Harlan looking up at her.

Vala frowned. "The Night's king and his dead army were swept away in the wind, Good Father. They'll not have to face him again."

"Gods be good they will not, you're right, but that doesn't mean the North should not be vigilante. Old enemies have a way of coming back."

"Alys, Fraya to bed now," hissed Vala, shooting Harlan an angry glance as she pulled them from the room.

"Klebb, stay awhile, I would have words." Said Harlan when he saw the boy start to rise. His grandson froze and then settled back into the chair. "When you begin your fosterin' lad, you must learn all you can. Be dutiful of the king and his men. Make your sword arm strong, wield axe and bow as well as spear. Even better, learn your letters and numbers. The King will need good faithful men in the years to come. There will be a reckoning."

"Reckoning, Grandfather. Because the king defeated the Night's King?" said Klebb leaning forward in his seat.

"No, Klebb because of what happened after," Murmured Harlan. "The songs always end with the defeat of the Night's King do they not?"

"They do." Said Klebb

"No one, even scholars and bards want to repeat what happened next, because it was messy the same as life." Harlan took a long pull from his ale and leaned back, giving his grandson an appraising look. "You're young Klebb, some of this story will not make sense, but you must hear it."

Klebb nodded.

"In times of great stress and strife, people grasp onto simple things that bring them happiness. You, yourself, are a result of that Klebb. Your mother was a slip of a girl working as a laundress when your father met her. They hadn't known each other much more than a fortnight before she dragged him in front of the weirwood tree over at Winterfell." Harlan said with a chuckle. "The godswood was so busy in those times, pairs were even wed at night. We were all preparing to die, you see."

Klebb made a face but kept his mouth shut.

"As it is for all men and women, it's much the same for Kings and Queens. Not long after the Dragon Queen and her armies arrived in the North, she and the King had their own meeting at the Weirwood. It was my honor to stand guard at the gate to the godswood when the queen passed by on the arm of her hand Tyrion Lannister." Harlan shook his head. "I always told your grandmother she was the most beautiful girl a man ever laid eyes on, but Daenerys Targaryen was something impossible. Silver hair, lad, eyes the color of new lavender in the spring, skin like freshly fallen snow. No man ever saw that woman and didn't feel poleaxed."

"But Grandfather…" Klebb started, but Harlan stopped him with a hush.

"I know, I'm getting to it." Harlan took a long pull on his horn and listened to the fire crackle for a moment. " When the Night's King was defeated, the King was gravely injured and laid up in his bed for many weeks. All the while the Queen sat by his side and prayed to whatever gods she knew might care. But life doesn't stop just because you've survived certain death. The world was changing faster than anyone could imagine. Word came from the south that Cersei Lannister, the Mad Queen, was dead and that a great host was moving on Kings Landin'. The Dragon Queen and her advisors along with the remaining unsullied marched south to treat with them."

"And she never came back," whispered Klebb.

"No, she didn't. You ever heard the sayin' love is the death of duty?" asked Harlan.

"And duty is the death of love," Klebb called back.

"That's right, at King's Landin' the Queen found the city held by an oathbreaking mercenary army, the Golden Company, and twenty thousand Dornish spears at the gates. Both sides had already come to an accord. Daenerys Targaryen would be the queen of the seven kingdoms, but they'd be damned if some northern bastard was to be their king."

"But she was his wife?"

"Aye, according to the Old Gods she was and still is, but the Southern Kingdom doesn't follow the old Gods, they follow the Seven. So every Southern Lord, every Septon, every Maester all said the same thing, it was no true marriage and Jon Snow was no true King."

Klebb furrowed his brow and drew his lips into a tight line. "So she betrayed him and the North."

"No, Klebb," Harlan said kindly. "she saved him, she saved all of the North. If she had denied the Dornish claim, it would have meant war and we were in no shape to fight it. It would have been the end of our ways. The Queen didn't forget who her people were though, Lady Sansa who was acting in the king's stead, was called south and given a writ of independence for the Northern Kingdom. No longer would the North have to bend the knee to southern games. The Dragon Queen gave us our freedom and gave herself over to a pit of vipers."

"So she married the Dornish Prince to stop a war, but that means she's an oathbreaker."

"If she is, then isn't the king himself an oathbreaker? Did he not marry a Manderly before a Septon at White harbor?" Countered Harlan. "I told you, it was a mess. One that the North will not soon forget."

Klebb ran a hand over his face in confusion. "It's awful."

"That's why there will be a reckoning, Klebb. Imagine if some southern lord said your mother was not your father's true wife, what do you think he would do."

"I'd like to see them try." Sneered Klebb.

"No proper man would let it pass without swords being drawn and especially not our King. I've been in enough wars to know when ones comin', Lad. Let me ask you, what does your father do?"

"He's a captain of the Northern spears." Answered Klebb promptly.

"And how long has he been gone?"

"Near on a year now."

"Aye, and no word of where he is neither."

"No," said Klebb quietly.

"Mark my words, boy, winter is comin'."

Klebb snorted.

"Go on, off to bed now. I'm sure you'll have to sleep off the drink." Harlan winked at him and silently watched the boy retreat up the stairs, telling himself all the while that it was good for the boy to know a bit of the truth, even if it wasn't all by half.

Old Harlan had been there on duty, just outside the King's chamber when they broke the news to him. For as many years as he might yet live he'd never forget the screams, the frightful wailing of his King. The very memory of it was enough to fill his own stomach with hot rage all these years later.

Even nature had seemed to agree with his King's grief that night. A terrible storm had rushed in across the Neck and driven against the old walls of Moat Cailin, while Jon Snow shouted his defiance against the gods themselves.

  
\+ + +

 

Half a world away a new day broke over a wide flat plain and a high walled city built around a great pyramid. The gathering light revealed a golden encampment sprinkled along the outer walls, nestled like a babe in its mother's arms.

There would be no mercy for babes that day.

The host crested the gentle rise, sun at their backs, causing long shadows to snake into the valley, black banners shuddering in the wind. Bells began to toll, awakening the city to danger and the little golden men half a mile below looked like ants scurrying to their posts.

Horns sounded, swirling with the howling of wolves.

The Bastard King ripped his sword from its sheath and held it aloft to catch the light for all to see.

"Winter is coming!" He cried and the mighty army of the North answered back.

"AND THE SNOW COMES WITH IT!"


	2. When The Wolves Arrived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling this chapter will raise more questions than answer, but they're coming, I promise.

It was the bells that woke him. The deep tone quivered the walls and wiped the wine hazed sleep from is mind

 

"All the gods damn you, Harry Stickland!" He groaned, throwing the covers from him. The body shivered next to him. He paused briefly and raked his eyes over the fine curve of hip. He'd be damned if this was the last naked woman his saw. He slapped the supple ass for luck and pulled his trousers on.

 

Even before he pushed the dirk into his belt he heard the steady march of feet out in the hall. Pulling his chamber door open he found the Unsullied already heading for the ramparts. He saw Grey Worm down the hall shouting orders in bastard valyrian. The eunuch still wasn't very good company, even after years in Westeros, but the man knew his fucking business.

 

He followed the flow of soldiers up the stairs and out onto the eastern outer wall of Meereen, the early morning air hitting him like a balm, but not cooling his nerves. He broke onto the ramparts half expecting to see golden helms peeking over the tops, but he only found the stoic unsullied staring to the east, just as he left them in the early morning when he'd found his bed.

 

He paused and swept his eyes over the plain before him, he could make out the Golden Company's camp a hundred yards away. Where he had expected to see them forming into cohorts ready to attack the city walls, all he saw was chaos. Figures ran in every direction, some still emerging from their tents.

 

"Where is the officer on watch?" he cried. If they had raised the alarm for no fucking reason he was going to have someone's head. He rubbed his hand over his face. He shouldn't be surprised, they had all been unnerved when the sellsword army had marched in from the south the night before, their Captain's demanding sanctuary in the city. A company of six thousand men armed to the teeth hardly needed sanctuary from anything and he had told the little fat shit Strickland as much. The Lady Regent had agreed with him and told the Captain's to fuck off. Well, she didn't actually say that, but it was much the same.

 

"My Captain?" said an Unsullied with a salute.

 

Daario looked the man over tiredly, remembering the face but not the name, Red Dog, Red Frog, something of the sort.

 

"You signaled the alarm, why?"

 

Red Frog Dog looked at him like an idiot, then pointed to the east. Not at the Golden Company below them, but far out towards the eastern hills, towards the rising sun.

 

Daario shaded his eyes, half blinded by the light and gasped. The hill seemed to be rolling towards them.

 

"Fuck me."

 

A great host was entering the valley, nearly hidden against the still dark rise behind them. A chill ran down his spine. It had the feeling of that pause, right before a serpent strikes.

 

"Raise the city militia, I want them at the eastern gate now," he hissed and the unsullied left him with a nod.

 

Grey Worm appeared at his side, silent like stone.

 

"Well, Lord Commander," Daario bit sardonically. "I've had a score of years without incident. Now you show up and we're back to our old games. Two armies in as many days. I was beginning to think trouble lost its taste for me."

 

"Trouble follows." Grey Worm whispered cryptically. He was shading his eyes against the sun, dark eyes narrowed scanning the ridge. "Many."

 

"Yeah, I'd say at least six or eight thousand spears. No siege weapons that I can see and no horse either. The company has at least a thousand. Still, Fat Harry must be pissing himself down there, bet he misses his beasts right now."

 

"Elephants no more, feed many."

 

Daario snorted. How the Dragon Queen had persuaded Homeless Harry to not only part with his Elephants, but have them butchered for meat was beyond him. It was funny as all the hells though.

 

 The Golden Company was forming into something that deserved their glistening reputation. A shield wall of a thousand spears formed on the left flank using the river for protection. In the middle two thousand spears and archers with five hundred horse ready to skirmish. Arching away in a half crescent to the south was another two thousand spears and horse protecting his right flank. Harry Strickland might be a gods damn coward, but his captains were tough shits. No doubt many a lash had been dealt to move thousands of men fresh from sleep so fast.

 

Across the valley, horns sounded and the black army stopped a long way out of the range of the golden bows. As the horns drifted away and echoed off the hills, an alien moan erupted into the dawn. A mournful voice, like a wailing mother.

 

There was a hushed silence all along the ramparts, before the most horrible sound that had ever passed Daario's ears bubbled up beside him. Grey Worm laughed. It was a crossbred mix of stone cracking and a death rattle, but it was an unmistakable sign of mirth. Grey Worm cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled.

 

"Se zokla dārys māzigon naejot tymagon se tymptir!"

 

_Wolf King?_ Daario thought confusedly.

 

All along the ramparts the unsullied raised their spears and yelled out into the morning. Daario saw several surprised faces turn their way from the golden lines below, only to swivel back a moment later when a dull strum thumped across the valley and the sun seemed to dull for a moment.

 

He watched in horror as a knight below him was ripped from his saddle and pierced on a bolt as long as a man a dozen paces beyond his thrashing mount. Looking up he saw a red mist had bloomed in half a hundred places along the company's lines.

 

"Scorpions,"murmured Grey Worm beside him.

 

Before he could fully process what he was seeing, the strum sounded again. The Golden company spears raised their shields, but the red mist appeared again; bursting through metal, flesh, and bone. The cries were miserable even at a distance.

 

The black army began to advance again. Grey Worm let out an ugly chuckle.

 

"Have only seen on paper map." The unsullied commander said. "Golden men think wall makes safe." He patted the wall then pointed to the north, "River protect." He shook his head sadly. "But wall crush, river drown. Shield wall hold in place." He motioned to the black army marching towards them. Then lifted a finger towards the south where a cloud of dust had risen in the morning light and a thin black line appeared spreading across the valley. "Hammer falls. "He closed the outstretched hand. "Four sides like fist."

 

"Jaime Lannister would be proud." Said a quiet voice and Missandei stepped in between them.

 

"My lady, we're still assessing the situation." Said Daario. "Though, it appears Strickland had reason to be afraid after all."

 

"He did indeed, Captain." Said the former slave girl, golden eyes flickering across the narrowing lines, lips quirking up into something of a smile.

 

"If it comes to a siege we're prepared."

 

"There will be no siege, Captain, they did not come for us." Said Missandei. She held up a hand and there was a small roll of parchment in it. " I woke to a Raven beside my bed this morning."

 

"A Raven?" asked Daario in confusion.

 

"Is bird." Grey Worm said, taking the roll from his lady wife's hand. Daario still didn't understand how exactly that relationship worked, but he thought the consummation japes best left on the tip of his tongue. He watched as the unsullied quickly read the scroll, a sneer spread across his lips. He looked up. "Ivestragī īlva jikagon se greet īlva lēkia va se field, ñuha ābrazȳrys."

 

"No my husband, we will let them do their work. Hold the wall for him." Said Missandei quickly. She put a hand on his arm. "I am eager to meet our old friends as well."

 

"Friends?" hissed Daario. "Apologies, My Lady, but what the _fuck_ is going on?" To his annoyance, he was completely ignored altogether.

 

The golden archers below let out a haggard volley of their own. The black army raised their shields and allowed the arrows to fall on their ranks. Spaces appeared where bolts slipped through, but many simply bounced back into the air harmlessly.

 

"Ironwood." Said Missandei.

 

Ironwood? Recognition tickled at the back of his mind, but he was distracted by the rush of knights bursting through the golden ranks and bolting across the field to the enemy shield wall. In answer, a horn sounded across the valley from them and shapes rushed forward from the black shield wall to meet them.

 

 Daario's mind was trying to catch up to what he was seeing. A horse in full flight. A large cat from the far east he'd seen as a boy, chasing a hare in the market in Myr. It was those things and not at all. Monstrous shapes with low, ground-eating strides. 

 

"There are so many now." Missandei cried next to him, wonder thick in her voice.

 

The shapes met the knights in the middle of the field and there was a moment of chaotic struggle. The golden knights seemed to break in every direction, white, grey and black shapes following, swarming, swallowing until the knights were no more.

 

There came a mighty crash and cries from the south. The hammer had fallen, the fist closed, and the golden company's right flank folded under the weight of countless riders.

 

+++

 

Four generations the Golden Company had been the finest fighting force in Essos. Their numbers could sway any conflict in their favor, provided the gold paid was good enough. In the span of a single morning, the bittersteel beneath was reduced to a few tattered banners buffeted by the breeze off the Bay of Dragons; crushed against the walls of Meereen by the weight of horse and spear and sword. Tooth, as well, apparently.

 

_Wolves._

 

Daario warily watched the beasts circle the battlefield. By all the gods, he'd never seen anything like them, other than a dragon maybe. Big as a horse, fast as a cat chasing a rat. The most chilling thing about them was how they worked. In twos and threes, together, as if driven by some inner intelligence. When the beasts had stopped with the killing, he watched them pick amongst the dead strewn for a quarter mile beyond the walls, sniffing out survivors and waiting for soldiers in black to come to them. Help if it were they were their own, a sharp blade if they weren't.

 

The former sellsword was a killer and had been since he was a boy, but even his thirst for blood had its limits. The totality of the destruction was unnerving. Even the men who fled into the shallows of the river were speared like fish, in the back, in the belly; it did not seem to matter as long the golden plate ran red.

 

The Lady Regent and her cockless husband watched it with a pleased sort of silence. That unnerved him most of all.

 

"Surely," he said near the lady's ear. "the Queen would not approve of this, My Lady. We should send word as soon as possible."

 

"She will hear of it, Captain," Missandei said, lifting her chin. " There will not be a woman so pleased in all of Westeros to hear of it. A great wrong was righted this day."

 

"What wrong? This is butchery." Daario sighed. Perhaps it was best that he had made his plans to leave. Serving in Meereen had made him soft-headed. "The Queen Daenerys I knew would be appalled at a site such as this."

 

"Mayhaps you are misremembering, My Queen, Captain."

 

 Well into the afternoon, the soldiers below worked, pulling bodies away from the wall and piling them into pyres. They went about their work with a sickening joy, foreign bearded faces split in smiles, hardly paying any attention to the people above them; save for some that would glance up at the pair beside him and give a nod of acknowledgment or a quick bow.

 

"So many familiar faces," Missandei said to her husband.

 

"Aye." Said Grey Worm, which could have been a jape or as near as the stone man could muster for his lady wife left out a happy laugh.

 

Daario bit his tongue and watched a group of riders approach the wall. The foremost a was a small figure on a nimble chestnut mare; a grey wolf padding an easy gait by their side. The other riders made him pause.

 

"Dothraki?" No, not all of them were horselords, not at least that he knew. No Dothraki he'd ever seen were red or fair-headed and there were more than a few of those amongst the group.

The figure on the chestnut mare paused amongst the blood soaking into the sand forty feet below, the wolf circling, following the scent of gore along the wall.

 

Missandei gasped next to him and clasped her hand over her mouth, he could see the tips of her lips lift in a happy smile.

 

"Even if we had not had the word of your arrival, I would recognize that crown of hair anywhere, good sister." The figure called and Daario was surprised it was the voice of a woman, though she wore the garb of a man. Plain leather armor over a high necked tunic, black leather trousers; brown hair pulled up tight against the back of her head. At the distance, he had the impression of soft womanly features and light grey eyes.

 

"And I you, good sister." Said Missandei, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

 

The woman down below looked around her, then cut a nasty grin. "Sorry for the mess. Bit of warm work that."

 

"See that you clean it up before you go, my friend." Said Missandei.

 

The figure laughed heartily and the chestnut mare crab stepped closer to the wall, it's lady rider keeping her seat easily.

 

"We will, My lady. My brother sends his regards, requests that you might sup with us when the sun fades." The figure lifted a bloody sword and pointed down the valley were a pavilion of sorts was being constructed away from the battlefield.

 

"We look forward to it, My friend."

 

The woman nodded and half turned her mount before pausing. "Mayhaps, if the sellsword is around, bring him as well. I believe my brother would like to meet him."

 

Daario's stomach sank to his knees, little doubt of who the woman spoke. Missandei shot him a quick look.

 

"I will make sure he attends, my good sister."

 

The woman lifted the sword in a salute and spun the mare away from the wall and galloped swiftly down the valley, riders and wolf trailing in her wake.

 

"Who was that?" Daario asked watching the rider fade into the afternoon dust.

 

"No one." Grey Worm answered.

 

Missandei smiled at some unknown joke, she shook her head. "That is a princess."

 

"That's a fucking princess?" Daario looked at her disbelievingly.

 

"Though I'd not call her that to her face, she would react badly. She is, however, Arya Stark of Winterfell, sister to Jon Snow the King in the North."

 

_Jon Snow_. Daario's blood ran cold. He should have left days ago, he could have been well on the way to the manse in Lys, spending his days with hard drink and quick fucks.

 

Jon Snow wanted to meet him.

 

"Fuck me."

 

 

+++

 

 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Daario hissed as they left the gates of Meereen behind when the sun fell into the bay.

 

"Aren't you the least bit curious, Captain?"Missandei asked him. "What happened to that swaggering braggart I remember?"

 

"He got old." Drawled Daario and then gave her a sideways glance. "What happened to the Queen's little shadow?"

 

"She spent too many years in Kings Landing." The Lady Regent replied and shifted in her saddle, eyes glistening in the fire of a dozen giant pyres spread across the valley. As the sun had dipped the fires were lit burning the dead. An odd practice when the birds or a shallow grave could do just as well.

 

"Why the fires?" Daario asked out loud.

 

"Is safer." Said Grey Worm.

 

Daario felt his brow furrow but said nothing. His mount shifted uneasily beneath him suddenly and nickered, ears darting in all directions. They were moving in between the fires now, the stench of burnt flesh raw and bitter against his senses, but that was not want set the horse on its guard. Following on a parallel path on the other side of the fires was a giant white wolf, eyes glittering in the flames like deadly jewels. He felt his throat tighten. The thing was fucking huge. He turned to the lady beside him, but his eyes caught another beast lurking beyond the flames there too. A white wolf as well, the coat made blood red in the firelight. The wolf seemed to be looking directly at him, but then silently moved off into the shadows. A moment later the pair appeared ahead of them on their lit path.

 

"Ghost?" he heard Missandei whisper.

 

"No." He heard Grey Worm answer.

 

The matched wolves waited for them to near and then turned in unison, leading them into the camp and ten thousand sets of curious eyes.

 

The camp seemed to be broken into a thousand fires, each encircled by warriors huddled together, basting huge sides of horse or whole goats. Some laughed and drank merrily out of strange cups made of horn, while others stood and bowed at their passing. Most had the look of Westeros, but sprinkled amongst them, he saw the darker faces of former unsullied; their features made strange by a beard, or hair grown out or tied behind their heads. Several of these called out in bastard valyrian to their former compatriot and Grey Worm called warm words back, raising a fist in salute.

 

Then there were the Dothraki, or what looked like the horselords. These were perhaps the strangest, for while the braids remained and colored vests over light tunics, amongst even the small number he saw were the pale faces of northmen and even he  to his astonishment, women. A red-haired Dothrak woman caught his eye as he passed and she glared at him over the top of her horned cup. She had the look of a killer, bells twinkling in her braid when she turned from him sharply.

 

Winding their way between the fires, the wolves led them to the center of the camp where a pavilion had been raised, surrounded by smaller tents of varying design. There they found two figures waiting for them. Missandei was off her mount in an instant and embracing the smaller of the two figures, it was the woman he saw earlier in the day. The princess, he thought with distaste. Garbed in the same black leather armor and high necked tunic, hair halfway pulled behind her head, so that the remainder hung around her shoulders. She was no beauty, not a proper one anyway, but when cool grey eyes met him over Missandei's shoulder he could see that there was a certain cold fire in them, like looking into the eyes of a snake. There was beauty in danger at least.

 

"It is good to see you, my _princess_." Missandei was saying, laughing when the woman gave her a light slap on the shoulder.

 

"Leave it to my brother to hang an even worse title around my neck." The young woman sighed, rolling her eyes. She moved to Grey Worm and gripped his forearm like a warrior would.

 

"No one." Grey Worm said with a nod.

 

The woman let out a laugh. "You don't use that tongue much but you sure know how to please a girl, good brother." She shot a brief look at Missandei with a raised brow. The Lady Regent colored prettily in the torchlight.

 

 

 

The princess turned her eyes on him and Daario straightened to his full height. He was at least a head and half taller than the little woman, but something heavy in her gaze made him feel smaller. The smile she had held for her friends fell and dipped into a frown, eyes taking in each detail.

 

"This is the sellsword?" The princess said, disgust dripping off her words. "He has blue hair."

 

"Captain Naharis is Tyroshi, Arya, it is a custom there." Explained Missandei.

 

"A custom for cunts." smirked the princess.

 

Daario swallowed the knot of irritation on his tongue and dipped his head.

 

"Daario Naharis, Princes…"he started, but the sharp prick of a dagger point stopped his lips.

 

"Make no mistake sellsword, I am no princess, or lady. You may call me Arya Stark if it pleases you. But if you call me princess again, I'll name you sword swallower and it won't be a fucking jape about what you do with cocks." She had moved so fast, Daario didn't have time to register how close she'd come until her breath was hot against his face. He silently nodded his understanding and the dagger moved away from his throat. He realized this was going to be a long evening.

 

"Seven Hells, Arya Stark, can't you go a few hours without stabbin' somethin'." A voice called. A grey-bearded man with watery blue eyes had come from the pavilion. He was of an age where the back was a little stooped, but in his youth, he might have been quite tall. He gathered Missandei hands in his and stared at her affectionately. "My Lady, it gladdens the heart to see you. I came south hopin' to find a butterfly, but you're the first I've seen."

 

"I see the pretty words haven't left you, Davos." Laughed Missandei, then she tugged him close and held him in a tight embrace. "How I've missed them."

 

The man, Davos, reached over and placed a hand on Grey Worms shoulder and squeezed it gently. No words passed between them, but it seemed as if the unsullied might have looked a little less stoney than usual.

 

"Grenn, Pyp." Arya Stark said to the two white wolves laying in the shadows of the pavilion. "Go find Jon." The wolves loped off into the dark camp. Daario shook his head, how smart were those fucking beasts.

 

"They should be with him anyway, seein as how he won't accept a proper Kingsguard," Davos said with a frown. "Ah, you must be the sellsword." Said the old man. "Ser Davos Seaworth."

 

"Daario Naharis." At least this time there was no blade at his throat when he nodded to the old man.

 

"Ser Davos is Hand to the King." Said Missandei.

 

"Former Hand to the King. Princess Sansa took over m'duties a few years ago. Now I just try and keep her brother from gettin' himself killed." Davos shrugged and then chuckled. "I guess now that I think on it, not much of a change really."

 

They all seemed to share a laugh. Daario let out a sigh. This wasn't an army he realized and these weren't old friends and allies met again. This was a very strange family.

 

"Ned Umber?" cried Missandei and then she was embracing a tall young man with sandy brown hair and beard. "You're so tall. Don't tell me you're still squiring for the King?"

 

"No my lady, have one of my own now." Chuckled the youth.

 

"How fares Last Hearth?"

 

"The rebuilding is slow, my lady. I spend most of my time with the King at Snow's End."

 

"Snow's End?" Missandei looked questioning over at Ser Davos.

 

The old man looked uncomfortable for a moment but then sighed. "Used to be called the Dreadfort. With Winterfell blown to bits and Moat Cailin too far south for the King's like, he moved his court there."

 

"I see." Said Missandei, almost to herself. There was a beat of silence and then Ser Davos cleared his throat.

 

"What say we move inside, no tellin' how far those wolves will have to go to find the King." He motioned for them to follow and then moved into the pavilion. A fire burned in the center, the heat in Daario's opinion was a little much for the warm night, but the welcome smell coming from the bubbling pots near the fire soothed him. He was handed one of the strange horn mugs by a woman in a grey shift. The liquid in it was dark and frothy and when he took an experimenting sip, found it to taste horrible.

 

"Northern Ale," Missandei said quietly, she took a strong drink from her own mug and wiped away the froth that caught on her lip with a sleeve. "Not for everyone on the first try, but welcome when the nights get bitter cold."

 

"If I get any warmer I'm going to melt." Said Daario.

 

"We carry the cold with us, Sellsword." Said Arya Stark lounging in a wooden chair on the opposite side of the fire, absently cleaning her fingernails with an ornate dagger. "Those that were there."

 

"It's true." Said Missandei, she motioned to her dress. He noted the long sleeves, the high neck, he knew when she walked he'd had once noted she wore trousers beneath. "I've no doubt you remember what the queen and I wore in Meereen years ago."

 

Daario snorted, more like not worn.

 

"It's like a mark of sorts, I think," Ser Davos said taking a seat next to him. "Those that were in the Long Night were cold so long it got into our bones, our blood. Or maybe it was some magic that monster whipped up in the storms."

 

There was a pregnant silence that hung in the tent, even Daario could feel the cold now.

 

"Monster, you mean the Night's King?" he said tentatively. Stories out of Westeros were slow to come and most seemed like nonsense. Though the red priests had plenty to say on it.

 

Davos nodded absently and took a pull off his ale. "Imagine a thing that fire can't kill. That could take multiple swords to his icy flesh and not fall. Raise the dead with a thought, see your every move even as you decided to do them." The hand on the ale trembled momentarily. "Like fighting a god."

 

"God of Death." Said Grey Worm quietly.

 

"How does someone kill a god?" Daario tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but failed miserably.

 

"With my hands." Answered a new voice.

 

Several things happened at once.

 

Missandei screamed. Grey Worm leapt from his chair and pulled a dagger with a black blade from the back of his trousers. Two white wolves began snarling threateningly, and Arya Stark began to laugh.

 

"I told you we should have warned them, Davos." She cried, doubled over in her seat.

 

"Aye, I guess we should have." Said the old man with a sigh.

 

The figure came further into the firelight, covered in a black cloak lined with furs. _So this was the famous Bastard King_. The face was pale and looked younger than he expected. The hair, dark and curled down to his shoulders. Handsome, pretty even he supposed, more so than the sister. The eyes were remarkable though unique even, not grey like the princess, but an unnatural shade of blue that seemed to glow in the firelight.

 

 


	3. He Will Fight Their Wars Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter in Meereen before we move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for a beta if anyone is interested. If you can deal with my terrible grammar haha.

He will fight their wars forever.

 

 

 

The bastard King shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over a chair beside a field desk, taking a flagon of ale from the serving girl when it was offered. "Thank you, Myranda, go find your supper." He said softly and nodded at the girl's shallow curtsy and quick exit. A causal pull on the flagon through parted lips and long swallow was followed by a satisfied sigh. There was an odd sort of ease and familiarity with the actions, considering a few paces away a man held a knife in his direction, a shaking lady huddled protectively behind him.

 

The king narrowed his eyes at them in thought, then tilted his flagon in their direction. "My Lady, if I let your Lord husband stab me, and not turn into a pile of dust, would that set your nerves at ease? It wouldn't be the first time. Though," He waved a hand over his chest. "I'd prefer a leg if possible, I'm runnin' thin on space up top."

 

Arya Stark snorted across the fire. "No shit. Remember Ned?" She threw a look to the young man standing sentinel behind her. "That one came screaming down the corridor _'Maester Wolken's stabbed the King!_ " She piped in a falsetto.

 

"Didn't sound like that." The young man rumbled.

 

"Don't act like it was some big jape, girl." Chirped Davos. "I'm seemin' to remember Old Harron had to lay atop of ya to stop ya from slittin' the Maester's throat."

 

"Aye, Wolken's hands were shakin' so bad while he stitched up my shoulder I thought I might be better off doin' it myself." Said the King with a grin. He looked over at Grey Worm and Missandei. The dagger had only lowered a fraction. The grin disappeared and the King's face hardened.

 

"For fuck's sake Grey Worm, I presided over your weddin'." He stepped closer to them. "You were so nervous I had to practically say the words _for_ you." The blue eyes flickered over to Missandei and a soft smile slowly whispered on his lips. "I was half afraid I'd married the poor girl myself by accident."

 

The Lady Regent took a slow steadying breath and reached her hand up, lowering the dagger in her husband's hand, though she made no move from her husband's protection. "How?"

 

"It's a scar, like the rest of them." The King said and pulled down the collar of this tunic. "Like these." Across his throat was a dark purple bruise, the impression of a handprint. He pulled off his right glove and held his hand up. Four fingers black to the second knuckle, the thumb nearly black to the base. "Maester thought I'd lose them, just never fell off." He flexed them slowly. "Feel fine, didn't even mind, I'd burned that hand already years ago."

 

"Why do you hide them then?"

 

_Fool. Why?_ The thought had passed Daario's lips before he could catch them and whatever spell that kept him unnoticed by the Bastard King was broken. The shimmering blue eyes glided in his direction and pinned him to his seat.

 

"Because of my _people_ , Captain Naharis." Murmured the King, eyes roaming over Daario's face. "I can hardly hide my eyes, but even now the memory of a king with the grey eyes of a Stark fades into memory." He held his blackened fingers up for the sellsword to see. "But this? If you were to walk amongst my people even tonight you would hear the hushed whispers of the hand that clutched a demon's heart. It will haunt them for generations, I need not display the hand itself. My people are haunted enough."

 

_The hand that clutched a demon's_ … Daario swallowed thickly staring at the scarred hand. "You tore out its heart?"

 

"Aye. One moment he's got a grip on my throat and beatin' me bloody with a fist like a block of ice, and the next, I put a palm to his chest. My fingers sunk into it like it was a mere pool of icy water, but the water was fire and it burned." The king made a snatching motion with his hand. "Plucked a fuckin' black stone out of him easy as you’d like."

 

" I.." Daario leaned back from the hand as if it would take his heart too. The king chuckled at him.

 

"Don't ask the why or how of it, Captain. I'll leave that up to the singers to decide."

 

"When we pulled him out of the marsh, his face was so battered his own kin wouldn't have recognized him." Said Davos quietly. "Face was swollen to all the hells." The old man glanced at Missandei. "You must remember, my lady? The maester could only salve and dress it. Didn't know for weeks if he had eyes at all. You lot went south before he opened them."

 

A dark oppressive veil descended over the group, even Daario could feel it gather around him. He shivered.

 

"No talk of that." Hissed the Bastard King, eyes darting to the old man. Davos shut his mouth and nodded silently to his king.

 

Missandei seemed to come to her senses and in an instant had flung herself at the king, sobbing into his chest as she clutched him to her. A stunned look passed over the king's face, before he returned her hug, awkwardly patting her back.

 

"My Lady, what will your Lord husband think." He whispered softly into her hair. Missandei laughed through her tears and stepped back, smoothing her skirts.

 

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I got lost in the memories for a moment."

 

"Aye, I often do that too."

 

Daario saw a tall figure enter the pavilion, a familiar looking Dothraki with a long braid and dark mustachios. He moved to the king's ear. "Ver Khal kisha hash the hosher men."

 

"Davra," murmured the king. "bring them gwe."

 

The Dothraki disappeared with long strides.

 

"You speak Dothraki, Your Grace?" said Missandei in surprise.

 

"Very poorly, my lady." Said the King absently as he replaced the glove on his hand. "I'm afraid we're going to have to delay supper just a moment longer. Please forgive me."

 

The tent flap was flung aside and a shape pushed roughly to the ground, then another joined it, cursing.

 

"Fuck you, savage." snarled the taller of the two men to the arakh wielding Dothraki behind him. Daario knew him, it was that cunt, Laswell Peake. The smaller figure rolled on to his side, pulling frantically at his bound hands. Daario smirked, it was Harry Strickland, even though he was bruised and bloodied, Daario would recognize that fat head anywhere.

 

The two men were forced to their knees by their Dothraki guards, kneeling at the feet of the Bastard King.

 

"Welcome, Captains." Said the King looking down at them. "You were missed on the battlefield today."

 

Peake snarled and Harry Strickland looked wildly about him, eyes alighting on Missandei.

 

"My Lady!" he cried. "Have they captured you as well?" His eyes darted between her face and the horn of ale in her hand, the flush of warmth on her cheeks. The fat face soured. "You would betray your queen?"

 

"Betray, Captain-General," Missandei said coldly. "You find me amongst dear friends of my queen."

 

Strickland's eyes snapped back to the bastard king. "You have made a grave mistake fool. We are in service to Queen Daenerys of the seven kingdo…"

 

"Southern Kingdom, Harry Strickland. I'm perfectly aware of what the woman presides over." Said the King sharply. "The question is do you know who _I am_?"

 

Fat Harry moved his mouth silently, Peake glared at the assembled surrounding them.

 

"Let me help you." The king held out his hand and the young man Ned handed him a Westerosi bastard sword with a wolf carved on the pommel, red garnet eyes flashing in the firelight. Then silently and with a practiced hand the young man fitted a black enamel gorget around his king's throat; the heads of two white wolves snarling at each other on his chest. "I have many names. My vassals call me the _White Wolf_ , the free folk _King Crow_ , the Dothraki call me _Ver Khal_ …Wolf King. But you Harry Strickland…"The King knelt on one knee in front of the recoiling sellsword. "You would know me as the Bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow."

 

"Snow?" Strickland choked. "We've no quarrel with you…"

 

"Don't You!" The King snarled taking a ragged breath to steel himself, then shook his head and stood up. "Our _quarrel_ is secondary at the moment." he flexed a gloved hand stared the palm of his hand, eyes unreadable. "Some time ago, you and Jon Connington hatched an expedition to the Jade Sea did you not, with the Iron Bank to fund it?"

 

"Iron Bank…"Whispered Strickland, understanding brushed across his face. "The funds never arrived. Why should we pay back that which was never produced!"

 

"That's not the Iron Banks problem. The contracts were signed, the funds sent…"The king shrugged. "Someone has to pay and the Iron bank isn't in a charitable business." Jon Snow shook his head sadly. "They've been more than patient, Harry. How long has it been, sister?"

 

"Six years, brother. I always remember it was the same year we started on the new glass gardens at Winterfell." The princess said with a nasty sneer.

 

"That's right, it was the same year that we started on the glass gardens….damned expensive project that." The King stared down at the two captains waiting until Peake finally caught on.

 

"Bastard and a _Pirate_." Spat Peake, he lunged forward, but his Dothraki handler held him in place.

 

"Is it piracy when a King does it?" said Jon Snow in thought, he shrugged. "No, it wasn't for gain. We would've built the gardens regardless. Besides," He nodded to half a dozen chests lining the pavilion. " my friends at the Iron Bank will be well satisfied now that I've taken care of this bit of nastiness for them and I get to start on my inner keep. Everyone wins."

 

"Your people might call you _King_ bastard, but you have no honor." Strickland snarled.

 

Daario couldn't imagine where the craven fool found the stones to say it.

 

"Honor?" hissed the King. "You speak to me of honor?" Jon Snow reached out with both hands and roughly pulled Strickland's head towards him. "You, the oathbreakin' sellsword who struts around regaling all who will listen about his _conquest_ of Kings Landin', as if he was Aegon the First himself? When all you did was sack a starvin' city and kill a mad woman fresh the birthin' bed?" The king was so close to the trembling face, Daario could see the spittle spraying it.

 

The King pushed the sellsword captain away with a growl of disgust and stepped back a pace. "Why didn't you land at Maidenpool as you were supposed to?"

 

Harry Strickland righted himself, Daario could see it in his eyes, the little coward had realized he wasn't leaving this tent alive. He whimpered and shook. Peake shot him a look of disgust.

 

"It was Connington," Peake said, "He wanted to take back Griffin's Roost, his family seat."

 

"And no doubt add Storm's End as well." Snorted Snow.

 

"He was promised the Stormlands." Answered Peake with a shrug.

 

Jon Snow sighed and gave a sad chuckle. "In truth, I have no care for the workings of the south, old or new." He turned to the prisoners. "It was the blacksmith that I regret." With a bent knee, he leaned towards the shaking Harry Strickland, who seemed to have been struck a mute by his impending death. "You came upon a force of seven hundred near Felwood, mostly young boys, and old men, but good honest folk who promised to come help my cause. They were being led by a boy newly given a name. Gendry Baratheon trampled to death by your fucking beasts."

 

"It was a mistake, we didn't know." Strickland whimpered.

 

"Aye, I could fill the Narrow Sea with things you don't fuckin' know, Strickland." Jon Snow sighed. "You didn't know he'd been given the name by the rightful Queen, that it was his by rights before all the gods old and the new. Didn't stop Connington and his pet Dragon did it." The bastard King let out a sad trickle of laughter. "That little fuck that called himself Aegon must have been shit with a sword, Gendry was strong, but not skilled. Gods what a way for Connington to get fucked ten ways by irony. Landin' in Westeros and losin' his precious silver prince all over again to a stag weildin' a hammer."

 

"Aegon would have made a better king than you Bastard." Shot Peake.

 

"That boy was no King." Sneered Jon Snow. "We talked to the fat cheesemonger, didn't take long to spill his guts."

 

"Literally." The princess said in a venomous hiss. She'd gotten to her feet and stood just behind her brother.

 

"Aegon Targaryen the sixth of his name," whispered Jon Snow, as if far away, he shook his head. "He was just another part of the Spider's web, schemes within schemes. Varys was gone before we could ask him, but the Magister confirmed. The boy was the son of a pillow slave from Lys. Perhaps the woman was some Blackfyre relation, but whatever she was, she was no mother to a King."

 

"We saw the boy, Bastard, lived with him." Said Peake. "He was every bit a Targaryen."

 

"Ah, yes, the silver hair and purple eyes." Jon Snow mused. "A proper Targaryen. Jon Connington was either stupid or a fool, or maybe he'd never seen the _real_ Aegon. The Cheesemonger confirmed what we already knew. Jaime Lannister assured us that stories of the hidden dragon couldn't be true. The boy who had his head smashed at the Red Keep had the colorin' of his mother, the black hair and blue eyes of a Dornishman."

 

Peake smiled through bloodied teeth. "Like the one that fucks your pretty queen?"

 

Somewhere across the fire, Daario heard the low growl of a wolf rumbling.

 

"Aye, Peake." Said Jon Snow. "Exactly like that Dornishman."

 

By the Dragon, Daario knew he wouldn't have been able to say such a thing with such calm, he felt himself finger the golden woman on his dirk. If Snow didn't kill this fuck soon, he would do it for him.

 

Jon Snow stalked around the two men ending up behind Harry Strickland. He looked up at his sister. "Arya, I was always shit at lessons with Maester Luwin. How was it again that Maelys the Monstrous killed Daemon Blackfyre?"

 

"No." Fat Harry whimpered and struggled against his binding while a slow smile spread across the wolf woman's face.

 

"He tore his head off."

 

"Aye, that was it."

 

It was as simple as a man adjusting his tunic, or putting his trousers on. Jon Snow placed a knee between the sellswords shoulder blades and snaked his arms around his head. There was a creaking of leather and muscle in between Harry's pathetic mewling. With a grunt and a snap, the sellsword fell forward, fat head slumped at an odd angle while a puddle of piss gathered around the twitching body. Daario saw the light go out of the sellsword captain's eyes.

 

"Well, it's not exactly torn off." Said Jon Snow looking down at the body.

 

"Curses on you, Bastard." Barked Laswell Peake.

 

"You're not the first to curse me before he died, Peake, though the last man was a bit more poetic." Mused Jon Snow. He bent down next to the man and roughly pulled his head to the side. "You see that man there?" he said pointing at Davos. "I owe that man this life, you could almost say he was the father of this life I'm leadin'."

 

Ser Davos stood and moved to stand before the pair. Peake stared up at the old man in confusion.

 

"Before Davos was an advisor and Hand to Kings, before he was the grandfather of a nation…he was a smuggler, a husband and a sire of four sons." Jon Snow held the man's face up to his advisor, making him stare into the old man's eyes. "You led a force across the Rain Wood. By the sea, there was little keep, nothing more than a single tower and a bit of yard. There was a kind woman there and two young boys. Do you remember what you did to them?"

 

"I don't know, I don't remember." Shouted Peake. "It was war!"

 

" _War_ , you fucking cunt?" cursed Snow, voice full of emotion, his bottom lip trembled against the man's ear. "Tell that to the lady's husband, tell that to the little one's _father_." He pointed a finger at Davos.

 

Jon Snow shoved the man over on his side and stood over him, taking deep calming breaths. He looked at Davos and something like sympathy lit his eyes, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll do it if you'd like, Davos."

 

"No, Your Grace, it is my duty." Said Davos straightening his back, he took an offered sword from Arya Stark and marched out of the pavilion. The Dothraki Guards pulled Laswell Peake to his feet.

 

"Piece of advice, Peake, best hold still. Davos is an old man and has little use for a blade. Might take him a few hacks at your sorry neck."

 

The body of Homeless Harry Strickland was pulled from the pavilion amongst the shouts and curses of Laswell Peake until the shouts faded away into the night and only the crackle of the fire remained as if they'd never been at all.

 

"Well," Said Jon Snow looking around him with a smile, the force of his dark anger suddenly hidden again under its thin veneer. "I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starvin’?"

 

 

++++

 

 

"King Snow, solar." Murmured Grey Worm next to his ear. Daario nodded, thankful that he wouldn't have to listen to any more of these petitions. Missandei, despite a long night in the Northmen's camp and plenty of ale, had risen at the regular time ready to start the day. For his part, Daario was nursing a pounding headache and parched mouth. The northern ale was bitter to taste but took hold quick as a virgins cunt.

 

He marched past the lady regent set on the dais doing her best impression of the dragon queen, chin raised, hands folded gracefully in her lap. The little slave girl was quite the mummer it seemed, and it brought back plenty of memories while they listened to another complaint about the tax on wool. Thank all the gods, the harpy, and the dragons, that hearing such nonsense was near its end. He'd be gone on the morning tide.

 

He crested the steps behind the throne and walked into the apex of the great pyramid into the chambers of the queen. That it was named such, was a folly, considering how long the woman had been away. He found a cool breeze coming from the balcony, a full flagon of wine on a table that he helped himself to, and Jon Snow, King in the North enjoying the sunlight.

 

The Wolf King wore his black leather gambeson, adorned with steel studs, black tunic, gloves; Daario thought him mad in the heat, but the man seemed immune. He eyed the king while he poured his wine, the long hair pulled tightly against the back of his head. Stance wide as if he expected an attack at any moment.

 

"Brilliant view, isn't it?" Daario called.

 

The bastard king half turned his head. "Aye, reminds me of the wall, only warmer."

 

Daario snorted. "I'm sure. I've never been, but I've heard your wall is at the end of the world, in the lands of always winter." He lifted the goblet to his mouth and drank deeply, feeling the liquid sate his thirst, though a headache remained. He poured another and walked to join the king.

 

"Not quite the lands of always winter, but close enough." Said Jon Snow quietly when Daario reached his side. " Close enough a man could forget what heat was, most of the time we'd huddle around fires," he glanced at Daario. "some even found room in their bed for their brothers."

 

Daario laughed. "Men need comfort no matter their vows, Snow."

 

"Aye."

 

"Is that what you did, Snow?" said Daario.

 

"No, was never my taste." Said the Bastard King. He lifted his chin and rubbed a hand along his dark beard, blue eyes so eerie in the firelight were still a remarkable dark blue in the day. "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children and win no glory." Jon Snow shook his head. "I broke nearly every vow of the Night's Watch, save one." He looked over at Daario. "I am the shield that guards the realms of man." The king reached out and took the goblet from Daario's hand and drained it in one breath, he looked at the empty cup as if it had betrayed him. "In the end," he said without looking up. "that was the only vow that mattered."

 

Daario swallowed and nodded. He took a deep breath and looked over at this Jon Snow. "I was prepared to hate you."

 

"And I you, Captain Naharis." Laughed the King.

 

Daario took the empty goblet from the King's hand and walked to fill it again.

 

"I expected some fat old lord to greet me," Daario said over his shoulder. "Mostly I expected at least a threat or two about sleeping with a king's wife." He heard Jon Snow laugh behind him, a great chortle that seemed to come from the man's balls.

 

"I wasn't aware you slept with my wife, Captain Naharis." Jon Snow laughed. "It's quite a feat considering the miles."

 

"It was still expected," Daario said, taking a sip and then handing it to Jon snow again. He watched the king sigh and look out over the city of many colored stones.

 

"You bedded a lonely queen on the opposite side of the world, Captain. I never blamed her for it, and I shall not blame you now." Jon Snow looked at him with a creased brow and Daario nodded to him in understanding.

 

"You and I, King Snow. "Daario began slowly. "We belong to the rarest of fraternities"

 

The Bastard King quirked an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

 

"We," said Daario thumping the King's shoulder. "are former dragon riders."

 

"Fucking Hell, Naharis." Laughed the King. "She told me your charm was of the cheaper variety, but she never mentioned it being crass."

 

"Ah ha." Cried Daario. "So she talked about me often?"

 

"A few times in truth. She…"Jon Snow turned to him appraisingly. " She once mentioned a man who said that there were no two finer things in life than a beautiful woman and killin' a man who wishes to kill you."

 

Daario lifted his goblet in salute and drank.

 

"I told her she could be sure she'd met at least one true fool in her life." Said Jon Snow.

 

Daario snorted into his goblet. "Surely, King Snow, you're the living example of that creed."

 

"In truth, I've no love for beauty and no love for killin'." Said the King quietly.

 

"Quite a statement from a man who married the most beautiful woman in the world and killed thousands at a word in the span of a day."

 

"I do what is needed, Naharis." Jon Snow said, he leaned into Daario, eyes imploring him to disagree. "Daenerys Targaryen's beauty did not sway me when we first met."

 

Daario snorted into his cup. "We could disagree on many things, King Snow, but the Dragon Queens beauty is without question."

 

"What do you know about me, Captain?" said Jon Snow. The King searched the sellswords eyes. "Aye, Dany is a beauty, but that did her little credit. Did she have two eyes as well, were her feet of an adequate size? Sayin' she had beauty is a dullard's observation, it was as obvious as the sun risin' in the east."

 

"Then she was luminous, vibrant, extraordinary." Laughed Naharis.

 

Jon Snow groaned and pushed away from the balcony. He shook his head at Daario. "You miss understand me. I know beauty, I grew up understanding it." He smirked lightly, watching Daario spin in his direction. " My Lord Father's wife was a handsome woman, though it brought her no grace. She never spared me a look or a word that wasn't meant to shame me." Jon Snow looked around him, at the high apex of the pyramid, the pink marble floors reflecting the morning light. "Even here in this place, I feel an intruder. A bastard boy turned a king, the weight of her disapproving gaze looking down on me. She never meant for me to have fine things, least of all a kingdom and the love of trueborn queen. In truth, she feared the very thing I've become."

 

"And what is that, Snow?"

 

"A usurper to her trueborn children." Said the King, absently, eyes far away looking over the city. He shook his head. "What I'm sayin' is that I didn't want any of it. All I wanted was some peace. Maybe a small home to call my own and if a little recognition came with it that would be alright by me."

 

"You really do like to play the enigma, don't you Snow?" chuckled Daario.

 

"I am an enigma." The King laughed. "More than you know." With a sigh, he shrugged shoulders. "I never wanted any of it, until I met Daenerys. In the end, I had to become a King to be with her. I didn't just love that woman. I breathed her, bled her. She wasn't a beauty to me, she was terrifying, impossible. She was my partner, my other."

 

"And then she left."

 

"She was taken from me." Jon Snow bit out sharply, the longing look swiped from his eyes. Blue orbs burning cold fire. "Those southerners trapped her. Chained her to the very thing she knew she couldn't turn away from and I couldn't fault her for. The duty to her people."

 

Daario hummed in the back of his throat. "Or, she just couldn't turn away from her ambition to the throne. The queen I remember was obsessed with it."

 

"That fucking chair." Sneered Snow. "It's never brought anything but misery to those that sat upon it and death to those who pursued it."

 

"Hell of a birthright."

 

"Aye." Came the quiet reply through pursed lips.

 

"Well," said Daario pushing away from the balcony. "you find me a man upon the wing, I leave for Lys tomorrow."

 

"Missandei told me, found yourself a little manse to live out your days." Jon Snow said following him into the queens chambers.

 

"Days full of wine and woman."

 

"Silver-haired women?"

 

Daario smiled quietly, but for once didn't have a tart reply. He shifted from one foot to another, under the weight of the strong gaze he was suddenly held under.

 

"It's strange Naharis." Said the King, slowly stepping down on to the marble floor. "What is it, thirteen, fourteen years you've haunted this pyramid. No doubt like me lost in memories of a time well past."

 

"I served her as she wished me to and now it's at an end." Said Daario, he heard the scratching of clawed feet against the smooth stone floor. The kings two wolves had risen from there slumber behind the cushioned bench. One blue-eyed, one yellow, both staring at him.

 

"That was until a year ago, no?" said Snow, he had a deadly knowing sort of half smile on his face. "Tell me about Maester Walmac."

 

_No._ Darrio felt himself frozen in place. _It was a mistake, he found me in my cups. I hadn't meant_ _it. I lied to him_. All of the excuses he could imagine couldn't break him from the trap that had been built for him. _This is not how I die_. "What about him?"

 

"You didn't think it strange that a Maester came all the way from Oldtown, just to ask you about your experiences with the Queen?"

 

"I…" Daario's tongue felt thick and stuck against the top of his mouth.

 

"He could have easily asked the woman herself. She has a great love for history that one. There was hardly a night I didn't have to pry some giant tome out of her hands that she fallen asleep holding." Jon Snow laughed, but it was an ugly broken thing. "They could've asked any number of others. The old bear Jorah's been following her like a pup since she was a girl, far longer than you, Naharis. But that Maester came all the way to Meereen to talk to _you_."

 

"Perhaps he wanted a true account. Jorah could hardly provide the, ah, details that I can." Daario said, knowing it was folly when wolves stalked towards him.

 

"I don't give a fuck that you bed the woman I loved, Naharis, but you did the one thing that could truly hurt her, embarrass her, shame her!" The King voice rose and echoed. "The one thing that could lose her that fucking chair."

 

 "As you said, Snow." Daario moved his fingers slowly towards his dirk. "It's brought nothing but misery to those that claim it." His hand was near enough he could wrap his hand around the golden lady. "Maester was well pleased with that piece of information. Paid me well, too. Imagine a queen that knows the hope of an heir is less than half a hope or none at all."

 

"Aye, none at all." Said Snow coldly.

 

"Come, Jon Snow." Said Daario wrapping his around the hilt of his dirk. "I'll not die like meat for your wolves."

 

"No," whispered a voice near his ear. "You'll die like all men. Shittin' yourself."

 

Daario spun and met cold grey eyes. There a prick at his throat and his body when cold. Odd…it was such a warm day. His vision blurred, hearing roared like thunder, and then the floor came up to greet him…

 

+++

 

"I wasn't done talking to him, Arya." Jon said with frustration. The sellsword's body lay between them, the blood pooling at their feet.

 

"You take too long, brother, I was gettin' bored." Arya knelt down and wiped the blade off in the sellswords blue hair. She picked up the dirk he'd dropped and stared at it. The hilt was a naked woman made of gold. Someone had gilt the hair with silver. "I mean really? What a _prick_." She walked to the balcony and tossed the blade over the side.

 

"By rights, it should have been me that had him, sister." Jon said with a sigh.

 

"You did Strickland, it was only fair."

 

"We had guests, you would've made a mess of him."

 

"Aye, I would've."

 

Arya came and stood next to him, watching the wolves snuffle the body and lick at the pool of blood.

 

"What now, Jon?" said Arya.

 

"I go north, you go home."

 

Arya snorted. "They're the same place."

 

Jon Snow looked up at the strange chamber adorned with lengths of silk and soft pillows. The heat of a foreign city that he barely felt at all was merely a reminder of her warmth. Meereen was very much like Dany herself. Full of colors and wonder, fire that did not burn, smells that lit his senses ablaze and prickled his skin.

 

"Not for me it's not."


	4. When You Waiver, I Shall Be Your Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, Chapter Four is a flashback to Winterfell before the long night. We also have our first major character perspective. 
> 
> Thank You for reading.

When You Waiver, I Shall Be Your Will

 

13 years ago- Winterfell

 

 

_Whore?_

 

It was maddening it should be  _that_ word that moved him, that made the grey eyes harden into deadly slits and caused him to act. Though with some thought, perhaps it wasn't so strange. Was not whore, the sister companion to the word bastard? The universal defensive position of weak-minded men and jealous women. When well-thought arguments were lost on some, only those words remained.

 

If only Jon knew how many times she'd heard the word. The first time was actually supposed to be a compliment she believed. A seven-year-old girl beside her brother in a braavosi jeweler's shop. The proprietor leaned over and bared his black teeth at her. _How much for the girl? She'll make a pretty whore one day_. Viserys had squeezed her hand and shook his head. _Just this_ , he'd said, and pushed a velvet bag across the counter. It was the day he'd sold their mother's crown, the day she lost her inheritance and her brother's love.

 

Many men had tried to make a whore of her, only Viserys had succeeded where others failed when he sold her. He was dead now, they were all dead now.

 

The cacophony of voices broke over the great hall like a wave, lifting to the rafters and crashing against those seated at the Lord's table. It almost seemed planned the way their ire rose in unison, all at once, as though they had just noticed the dragon sitting before them. Surely these willfully stupid lord's had seen her armies, her banners, had seen her son's capering in the sky above them. Even the sight of herself about the castle and in the hall as they filed in must have alerted to some of them that they had a Targaryen amongst them.

 

Apparently not. It was little wonder Jon Snow looked so sour much of the time.

 

Jon slumped back in his seat while the voices rose and she caught his eye, ignoring the little trill that wished to sound in her chest at the sight of the dark grey orbs centered in a set of absurdly girlish lashes. It was not the time or place for those thoughts.

 

_If you wish to be my King, you must first be theirs, Jon Snow_. She told him with her eyes.

 

"Your brother lost his crown to a _foreign whore_!"

 

It was those words, rising above the rest, delivered by a fat lord with a powerful set of lungs that caused Jon Snow to act. He shot to his feet with such force that the chair he set upon skittered across the flagstone floor towards the hearth behind him.

 

"You forget yourself, Lord Glover!" She had heard that particular version of Jon's burr on two occasions, both directed at her and apparently it worked on braying Northern lords as well as queens. The roaring dimmed until it was silent as a crypt. "That woman you've named whore was my good sister. Though I never knew her, I do not have so much family left that I don't hold those lost to me, dear. She was the wife of your king and was murdered carrying your prince." This set the lord's to murmuring in each other's ears, even a few nods were shared. "My brother lost his crown because he broke a vow, My Lord. I've broken no vow." Jon leaned over the table, fists at his sides glaring at the silent Lord Glover who seemed to have lost the use of those lungs. "Speaking of vows, My Lord, I've heard what men say when their king is away. I should take care, Glover."

 

The air crackled as Lord Glover glowered for a moment more, and then with a sigh, he nodded and took his seat.

 

"Now," continued Jon, and she marveled at how the voice held strength, but the anger faded. "I did not convene us to argue, but I will hear your words." He took his seat again. "One at a time."

 

"Your Grace," This time an older lord with a gleaming breastplate stood, she knew this one, Lord Royce of the Vale. "I fought against the Mad King," The old Lord's throat bobbed, glancing her way and while she wanted to grind her teeth, she kept her face impassive and simply nodded. "I do not know if I can abide aligning myself with his daughter."

 

"Aye, he killed your Kin, Your Grace!" Shouted a voice near the back of the Hall. This set the Lord's hissing again. Daenerys sighed, she would have to speak to Jon about the size of his small council.

 

Jon Snow held up his hand and the hissing stopped. "Aye, it's true, her father burned my grandfather and garroted my uncle." A chorus of "Aye's" answered him. "And the first thing the Queen did when I arrived at Dragonstone was ask for forgiveness." _Almost the first…he was learning._ "For the crimes of a man she never knew."

 

Every eye in the hall seemed to flicker in her direction, but she held her mask.

 

"Should we continue to fight all the old wars, My Lords. For crimes of men long dead." Jon shook his head. " The Stark's didn't become the Kings of Winter with kind words and pats on the back. We killed your Kin and yours killed ours. But in the end, we banned together and fought our common enemies. That is what we must do now if we wish to survive."

 

He was winning them over, she could feel the way the room seemed to lean in his direction. She let out a long held breath and glanced at her Lord Hand next to her. Tyrion did not look pleased, and she knew why but would have to address that at another time.

 

"I cannot." A ginger-haired lord rose from a bench near them, this one she didn't know. The lord took two quick steps in the direction of the doors, but stopped and turned. "You ask too much, Snow." He seethed. "First it was wildlin's, despite the fact they've killed and pillaged the North for centuries." She saw the red-bearded Tormund sneer at the lord and spit on the ground. "Now you wish us to accept a Targaryen? With an army of savages! What's next, Snow, the Ironborn? Are we to align ourselves with Lannisters as well?"

 

_Don't do it, Jon_. She saw the way he tensed, jaws clenching fiercely. _We've talked about this, it is not a lie to leave a truth to its proper time._

 

"I will do whatever is necessary to ensure our people's safety, Lord Cerwyn."

 

_Good. It was the best answer he could give._

 

"Not with me you won't," said Lord Cerwyn and he spun on his heel.

 

"What will you do when the dead come, Lord Cerwyn?" called Jon after him, the whole hall seemed fine to watch this play out, eyes bouncing from the mutinous lord and their king.

 

"The dead?" Lord Cerwyn turned to them. "Fuck the dead, Snow. I see no walkin' dead men amongst us and if they do come I'll hang my arse over my ramparts and ask them to kiss it."

 

A few nervous snickers waivered around them. Fools, they really had no idea what was coming.

 

"What will you do when I come for you?"

 

She had heard Jon Snow angry, defiant. Sometimes in the dark, she had heard him whisper sweet things against her ear that made her blush like a maid she'd never been. But these words he delivered sharp, like a knife, and deadly quiet.

 

"Let me do him, Jon." Said Arya Stark, pushing away from her position on the wall and throwing back her cloak, fingering a thin sword and ornate dagger. Arya was a mystery to her. The girl seemed to flit in between thinly veiled threats and owl eyes filled with childlike wonder when she'd met her sons.

 

"You'll not find me on my knees like _Baelish_ , Girl." Sneered Lord Cerwyn.

 

"Aye, she won't." Said, Jon, as he rose to his feet. "You and I are of the North, Lord Cerwyn. I'll not have your head, we'll settle this the old way."

 

This _old way_ , whatever it was, seemed to please the lords of the north. They slammed their horned mugs on table tops and growled their approval.

 

Lord Cerwyn suddenly looked like a man trapped. He looked around him, eyes wide. He's scared, she realized, but he's proud too. He reached and undid the lashings of his cloak, letting it pool at his feet.

 

"So be it, Bastard," Cerwyn said and turned, stalking out of the hall on his own. The lord's rose and whatever was happening had set them in a pretty mood, laughing, cheering.

 

"That's a proper fucking king." Someone shouted.

 

"Sansa, write to Castle Cerwyn, I expect Lady Jonelle to bend the knee in the mornin'."

 

"Jon," hissed Sansa pulling him by his cloak down to her mouth. "This isn't an execution."

 

"Isn't it." Said Jon quietly. He undid the fastening of his cloak and carefully placed it on his chair. Leaving him in only his plain brown leather gamesbon and dull steel gorget. She really did need to speak to him about looking like a king.

 

Lady Sansa's blue eyes caught hers. Where Jon's sister had been unbearably formal and cold, now Daenerys only saw the pleading eyes of a sister asking her to do something. Though she still wasn't clear on what was happening.

 

"Jon Snow," she said, catching his elbow before he passed her. "What are you doing?"

 

He looked down at her with something near a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"What I'm good at, Your Grace," he said with a nod. Then stalked off. Arya tossed him his sword as she dropped into step beside him, Jon's silent white wolf Ghost completing the phalanx on the other. She watched their retreating backs in confusion as Ser Jorah came up beside her.

 

"It's the old way, Your Grace. By rights Jon Snow could have that man's head, instead, they'll let the gods decide with steel." He said quietly near her ear. "It's a show of strength and conviction."

 

"You mean they're going to _fight_?" She was about to let out a string of curses in three different languages but was interrupted by a black-eyed Child.

 

"Aye, Dragon Queen." Said the girl, face implacably blank, the eyes narrowed at Jorah. "Cousin."

 

"Lady Lyanna." Jorah nodded to her.

 

"Come with me Targaryen and see my King. The White Wolf feasts today."

 

+++

 

_Stupid man!_ Oh if he died, she would kill him and if he lived he would wish he was dead. She had not lost one of her son's to save him, only to have the fool die at the hands of some obstinate lord. Though what did she expect of the man, he seemed constantly obsessed with making himself a corpse all over again.

 

She accepted her cloak from Missandei and followed the little lady of Bear Island out of the hall and into the inner keep. Lords and ladies ringed it and whatever heights she might rise to in life she would never be tall enough to see over them. Thankfully they found an empty cart against the smithy. Lady Lyanna stopped at the cart and darted a look at her cousin. Jorah raised an eyebrow and with a small smile placed his hands under her arms and lifted her into the cart. And unsullied upended a wooden crate and she stepped up beside the girl. There was Jon, at the far end of the keep with his face to her , sword still sheathed in his left hand, she could just make out his mouth moving, talking to Lord Cerwyn, though it was too far for her to make out the words.

 

"Some of the Lords say he is a bastard." Lady Lyanna said quietly next to her. "I've met bastards, and they're just men."

 

Little snow flurries sailed down from the sky and brushed against her brow, she wanted to tell the girl to shut up, but if she spoke, she might betray herself. The well of feelings swirling inside her was trying to break free and she could not do it here, she would not.

 

"Jon Snow isn't just a man," continued the little girl. "If these northern lords won't have him, I'll take him to Bear Island and give him sons. Then I'll show these weak lords what kings look like."

 

Daenerys flinched at the words _sons_ but was distracted when there was a sudden movement at across the keep. Lord Cerwyn feigned right and then left with his sword, ending with a murderous double handed thrust up the middle. _Oh._

 

She understood. It was a dance for Jon. Feign, backstep, feign, backstep, thrust, parry…there was a dull knock when Lord Cerwyn's blade stuck against the leather and wood sheath in Jon's grip. He hadn't even drawn his sword, but he stepped right. _Oh_. Each step led to the next, following a melody. A song only Jon could hear.

 

As he moved right, there was a flash of blue fired steel shimmering in the sunlight and then…beauty. Jon Snow gave Lord Cerwyn a pretty death as he rolled his wrist and the blade slashed down.

 

The little lady beside her instinctively gripped her hand and Daenerys squeezed back. Only to have the girl growl a moment later and shake their hands apart.

 

Lord Cerwyn fell in a heap and the only sound in the inner keep was the gentle brush of snow across the ground. Until there was a roar from above that shook the ground below. A shadow passed overhead. All the eyes, even her own snapped skyward and watched the dragon bat its wings, pushing mighty gusts of wind that blew about their faces. Rhaegal. Her son landed on the ramparts above Jon and roared again.

 

She felt the weight of eyes on her, all turned in her direction, but she could only watch Jon who seemed unaffected. He gathered the fallen Lord's sword in his hand and turned him over, kneeling by his side. The sword was placed on his chest, hilt below his chin, and Jon seemed to say some words over the man, secret words between warriors. The dragon roared, heat from his throat turning the light snow flurries into a hot mist.

 

Daenerys followed the thin tether to him. She found the vague feeling of triumph and fear. _Rhaegal, peace_. The green head snapped towards her, bronze eyes narrowed. _Peace my son_.

 

With a smoky huff, the dragon leaped off the rampart into the air and disappeared over the wall.

 

Jon rose slowly from Lord Cerwyn's side, he pushed his sword into the ground and adjusted his gloves in thought. She watched him turn, eyes darting over the assembled.

 

"My Lord Father, Eddard Stark, once said that a good lord must see his people as his children. Though I did not expect them to act as such." His words, though not strongly said, rang across the yard towards her. "I will honor Lord Stark and do as he did." She watched him take a deep breath and nod to himself. " When you waiver, I shall be your will. When you need protection, I will be your shield." He pulled the sword from the ground and held it up so the blood across the blade was seen. "When you need strength, I will be your sword… but I will _not_ have this conversation again," He turned left and right, meeting all the eyes on him, he turned to his sister, Lady Sansa. "with any of you."

 

Accepting the silence that met his words as agreement, Jon Snow stalked across the keep heading for the godswood and where he walked the lords and ladies of the north knelt until all seemed to be kneeling save herself and the man beside her.

 

"Ser Jorah," she looked down at him below her. She could see the torment in his eyes. "You're a man of the North, there is no shame in kneeling to your king. You would only honor me."

 

He met her eyes. _It has to be this way my old friend, not just for you but for me_. Understanding showed on his face. Perhaps it would ease the transition a little that the man she chose was his countrymen, it was as close to the true thing as she could offer.

 

Jorah nodded and joined his cousin and all the Lords of the North in supplication to her king.

 

Jon disappeared into the gates to the godswood and his subjects rose.

 

"That's my king, Targaryen." Said Lady Lyanna next to her. "Who is yours?"

 

Daenerys chose not to answer the little lady, it wasn't the time, only watched as the mistress of Bear Island pushed Jorah's offered hand away with a glare and nimbly hop down from the cart; disappearing into the crowd. She, herself, took the polite help from her Ser and stepped down into the snow-covered keep. Her four unsullied guards surrounded her, and as if guided by some intuition, split the crowd in a path to the godswood.

 

"Your Grace."

 

She managed to ignore him the first time, but her Hand was never a man to be dissuaded by silence, it often seemed he felt it his job to fill it.

 

" _Your Grace_ ," Tyrion repeated stronger at her elbow, they'd pushed clear of the crowd and were nearing the iron gates of the godswood. She slowed her pace and steeled herself.

 

"Lord Tyrion?" The Queen looked down at him. She could see the trouble in his twin colored eyes, for all his wile Tyrion Lannister was quite poor at hiding his moods, she often found it useful, but lately, it had been the cause of her only real moments of temper.

 

"Your Grace, we must push the issue." Said Tyrion quietly. "The North is yours by rights and Lord Snow has yet to bend the knee officially. The longer we wait…" he drew a breath. "You saw what happened, they knelt. He appears to be solidifying his rule and not submitting to _yours_."

 

Daenerys sighed and looked at her Hand, she fought to keep the smile off her lips and though well practiced she was sure she'd only managed mostly.

 

"I'm perfectly aware, Lord Tyrion." She started away from him and called over her shoulder. "Who do you think counseled him to do so."

 

“This is not wise, Your Grace,” she heard him call behind her.

 

+++

 

It wasn't until she was through the iron gates and left her unsullied guards behind, that she let herself truly feel anything. That was the key, the secret to being a queen. Daenerys wasn't sure if it was something inherent in her blood or if it was some mutation of a lesson that all rulers must learn, but she knew as deep as her bones that to feel wasn't weak, but it was vulnerable, and to her, there was a clear difference.

 

That's what Jon Snow had done to her, he made her feel and that made her vulnerable. That was why she had to make sure he was strong where she was not, otherwise, they might both collapse and waste away. And that was something she could not bear.

 

It first came in a great gasping breath while she steadied herself against a stone wall, heart racing in her throat. _He could have died_.

 

Perhaps it was her curse to know men that had so little regard for themselves, though where others she'd known had been driven by bravado, Jon Snow was only driven by his people, his family. In many ways, it was worse, because she found it so hard to fault him for it. He never sought glory for himself…this is _Jon Snow_ and as an afterthought, he's _King in the North_. Oh, when Ser Davos had introduced him that way she'd felt offended, as if it was in direct answer to her own long list of titles, trying to mock her.

 

It wasn't in mockery though, nothing about Jon Snow was as it should be, as she expected it to be and that was what made her drawn to him. Where she expected some blustering barbarian in goat furs made of more ice then man, here came Jon Snow, her little quiet King…and everything changed.

 

She changed, or perhaps she became more of what she had always been. A girl bereft of family and home had met a bastard boy that had never belonged and they fell in love. Even now, boots crushing snow, marching across the godswood toward _her_ Jon with a thousand tart words she wanted to say, her heartbeat quickened and the cold receded as she neared him.

 

He was seated upon a rock before the hot spring, the pale branches and red leaves of the weirwood tree hanging over him as sentinel. She watched him plunge a fistful of brown moss into the spring and run it along the edge of his sword, the blood of Lord Cerwyn splashing onto white twisted roots. _Valyrian Steel_? She'd asked when she saw the blade up close. _Aye, Dany, like I've been carryin' a bit of you around all these years. Like it was you protectin' me_. Jon Snow could say all he liked that he cared not for words but they came from his tongue round and warm in his Northern rumble. It was that warmth she sought by the time she neared him, harsh words lost between the iron gates and the weirwood.

 

"If you've come to berate me, I'm sure my sister will be along in a moment to do it for you, Your Grace." He said, not looking up from his work.

 

"I haven't," she said quietly. For years she'd painted her voice in hard tones and unyielding barks of command. Surrounded by advisors and enemies in all that time, left little use for the small voice the girl who wed Drogo used, but in a few short months with Jon Snow he had wiped the varnish away and in his company she was that girl again.

 

He looked up at her soft words and she hitched a breath at his red-rimmed eyes. No tears had fallen, but she saw how he felt their prickle anyway. He knocked some snow off a stone beside him. "I've not a cloak to lay for you, but your welcome to sit with me, Queen."

 

"I survived the Red Waste, Jon Snow," she said. "I think I can deal with a wet bottom."

 

Jon let out a light chuckle and a breathy, _Aye_ , as she sat and watched him for a moment running a hand along the blade of rippling steel.

 

"That's what you meant all those months ago, about not enjoying what you're good at." She said watching his profile.

 

The hand stopped needlessly cleaning the blade. "A man who enjoys killing is no man, Dany, he's a monster."

 

"It reminds me of something Ser Barristan once told me about my brother Rhaegar."

 

Jon's head shot up from his work, grey eyes wide, nostrils flared. Daenerys flinched. She knew what people in the North said about her brother and maybe it was true. _Don't deny me those happy words about my family Jon,_ she prayed silently.

 

But Jon Snow was always unexpected.

 

"Selmy?"

 

"Yes, did you know him?" she smiled. The old knight had been kind and brave. He died too soon for her heart to bear.

 

"Every boy that's held a sword in Westeros has heard of Barristan the Bold," Jon laughed shaking his head. "You've led a strange life, My Queen."

 

_More than you know, Jon Snow_. "I know what people say about my brother Jon, but I'd share his words if you'll hear them."

 

The smile died on his lips, but he nodded once in encouragement.

 

"Ser Barristan said Rhaegar never liked fighting or killing. It wasn't something that came to him naturally, but out of duty. Like you, I suppose." She tried to fight the hurt as his grey eyes grew cold at the comparison and pressed on. "He said Rhaegar liked to play the harp and sing to the people."

 

The ice left his eyes and his eyebrows rose to his brow. "I won't balk at the comparison to your brother, Queen, but if you gift me a harp and expect me to play it I'll not talk to you for a moon."

 

Dany laughed and slapped his shoulder. In a breath, the sword had been set aside, her hand grabbed and pulled in his direction. She couldn't hold the shriek of delight when he pulled her into his lap. It was not queenly to shriek in the company of a man, but as Lady Lyanna said, Jon Snow was no man, he was a King.

 

She shivered at the brush of whiskers and soft lips grazing her jaw and couldn't help but press her knees together at the hot breath and nip at her earlobe. Gods, this man, how surprised she had been to find the burn beneath the sullen exterior. She played with the curls at the nape of his neck as she knew he liked and was rewarded by a lick and a growl against her bare throat. White Wolf, indeed.

 

"Jon?" she said breathlessly, not wanting to stop him, but knowing a godwoods was no place for such things. No matter how much she wished to hitch up her skirts and have him right on that rock.

 

Jon hummed in the back of his throat while he speared kisses against her neck.

 

"Can I ask you something?"

 

"Aye, Anything." He growled while he hooked a finger inside her high collard cloak to place kisses on the skin he hadn't marked already.

 

"Do you know," she shivered when the hand over her hip glided down her thigh. "who she was?"

 

The kisses stopped suddenly. "What?"

 

"Your mother," she whispered quietly, smoothing down his hair.

 

Jon pulled away from her neck, face inches from hers. His eyes held pain, or maybe it was wariness, something she couldn't say.

 

"This hardly seems the time to ask about a man's mother when he's got miles of your skin to place his mouth on." He deadpanned, deflecting.

 

"In truth, I don't care, Jon." She cupped his face and brushed a thumb over his beard. "If she was the highest lady or the lowest fishwife, it matters not, you are my choice. But…"

 

Jon's pouty lips fell into a frown.

 

"I didn't call Rhaegal earlier and Drogon…"She shook her head, it was a foolish thought, but she wanted to say it. "My sons favor you above anyone else, perhaps she had a drop of my blood or…or something."

 

"Or perhaps they know their mother favors me."

 

"Jon…"

 

"My father never told me." He said with a swallow.

 

"That's not the same as not _knowing_ , Jon Snow." She could see he was hiding it, denying it. When he cupped her face in both hands and gently brushed his lips against hers, she thought briefly she may have to beat it out of him, but he pulled back and hugged her once again.

 

"Someday," he started, then paused breathing in and out. "When the wars are won, and that pretty arse of yours has widened on that throne you want so bad…"She pinched his side in protest, but he seemed unaffected. "You and I will sit down and get as drunk as Lord Tyrion and I'll tell you about my mother, I promise you."

 

He wouldn't lie to her, she knew that. The story must be tragic for him, painful, maybe it was something he thought best left unsaid at all. The least she could do was give him what he asked, perhaps it was one of those truths that needed to be left until it's proper time.

 

"I'll hold you to it." She said with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

 

"In truth, I'd rather play that fucking harp you want to give me," Jon said with a laugh, hurt still lingering, but ready to move on it seemed.

 

" I wouldn't dare, Jon Snow. The last thing I need is half the Ladies in Winterfell swooning over you. If they knew how clever that nimble tongue of yours is they already would be."

 

"Only half?" He said it was such innocence all she could do was frown at him.

 

"Well, hopefully not your sisters." _If you make a jest about my birth Jon Snow I shall cut you._

 

"There's only one woman I'd have swoonin', Your Grace." He smirked at her.

 

"Oh, and this woman, I assume she's some proper lady sequestered before a fire working her needle."

 

 "I don't think she owns any needles, I'd have to ask."

 

"Then is she stalwart, strong, would she make you a good wife."

 

"Aye, she's all of that."

 

Daenerys heart fluttered a little. _Wife?_. Somehow simple Jon Snow had made her say the word out loud herself. She controlled her breath and continued her game.

 

"And I assume she's pretty, beautiful, is that how you see her?" She lifted her chin at him, daring him to say it, but Jon Snow, he always surprised her.

 

"Aye, she is, but I'll not tell her that." He murmured. He pressed his head against her brow and allowed their warm breath to mingle in the cold air.

 

"Why is that, Jon?" she whispered, wanting to taste his lips, but wanting his sweet words as well.

 

"Since she was naught but a girl men have fallen at her feet, comin' in waves and crashin' on her shore." He rubbed his nose against hers.

 

_There wasn't that many_ … She thought with irritation.

 

"And you Jon Snow, are you a wave?"

 

He placed a kiss on the side of her mouth, gentle like a whisper, then nipped lightly at her bottom lip. She was going to lose this fight, she already knew it, but she held out a moment longer.

 

"A wave? No, Dany, I am the sea."

 

 

+++

 

 

This Morning- The Red Keep

 

Her eyes shot open, breath coming in heavy gasps when she lifted a trembling hand to her lips. A searing disappoint shot through her when she found them dry and not swollen from Jon's kisses.

 

"If I look back I am lost." She whispered to the canopy above.

 

_No, Daenerys Stormborn_ , she thought to herself, _if you don't look back you are nothing at all._


	5. A Dragon Was Not A Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics are at work in King's Landing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that is a pain in the ass to write, but important to the overall arc of the story. Thank You.

A Dragon Was Not A Slave

 

 

The Red Keep:

 

She leaned back against the bench and stared up at her grandsire. Even with a face mottled green with moss and age, his gaze held a weight as he extended a finger to some unknown point on the horizon, to the future, to her. Had the Conqueror also been weighed by a stinking city, a kingdom on the brink of bankruptcy for decades, and a people unconcerned by who set upon a throne so long as they ate and didn't die too often?

 

 "Did you want to crawl into a cave and hide as well grandfather?" she said quietly to the statue. Then closed her eyes to the morning sun, finding comfort in the subtle warmth.

 

These stolen moments in the morning amongst the trees and flowers of the keeps garden were her treasure. She liked to think some loyal gardener had preserved the statue all those years, hidden away in a thicket near the outer wall, the sound of the waves along the Blackwater whispering behind it. Or perhaps by the time anyone had noticed it, Baratheon had been too fat on his kingship he hadn't bother to wipe this bit of her legacy away.

 

"You really shouldn't talk to yourself, Your Grace, wouldn't want any rumors would we." Said an amused voice.

 

"If I haven't gone mad yet, Tyrion, I shall not." She said without opening her eyes, wanting to extend this beat of peace before she opened her eyes and it all came back to her. She heard Tyrion chuckle and fought down the urge to send him away knowing her stolen piece was at an end.

 

"What does King Aegon say this morning?"

 

"Nothing, he's a statue, Tyrion." She pushed herself off the bench. "I suppose it's time for the small council to gather?"

 

Daenerys started up the path towards the gate, knowing Tyrion would follow, her unsullied guards dropped silently in behind them. She kept her eyes forward, not allowing herself to be drawn to the looks she knew the numerous ladies and idle lords of the court would give her. She saw a few of them bow mightily as she passed. Empty headed simpletons to a one. No one ever came to Kings Landing willingly, she had learned that early, they all had a reason. Whether it was trueborn girls looking for good matches and young lords looking to make them or the shrewder types looking to curry favor with the crown, they all had reasons and usually, she was somehow connected to them.

 

 

 _Vultures_ is what she thought them to be and she wasn't carrion yet. No matter the rumors they whispered when she had passed, she was still a queen of _something_ , even if it wasn't what she had imagined it would be.

 

"Do we have anything imperative I should know heading in, Lord Tyrion?" she said, clipping her way across the outer keep at a strong pace, skirts billowing in the breeze.

 

"The usual I'm afraid, I've been visited three times by Dimittis since yesterday asking about the levies from Dorne. Apparently, they don't know what a draught is at the Iron Bank."

 

"They're perfectly aware, they simply don't care." She said. Daenerys didn't much care either, but the constant hounding by their new Master of Coin was infuriating. They had little choice in the matter though, the Iron Bank was insistent that she take the man on 'to ensure our interests in the continuation of your rule.' She didn't take well to thinly veiled threats, but there was nothing she could do, the debt was too great to refuse their counsel that this point. Besides, even the sour-faced Noho Dimittis was better than the usual set of excrement she dealt with.

 

"This is a _fucking_ outrage!" Bellowed a voice as they entered the small council's chambers. _Ah_ , she thought, _there's one of the shits now_.

 

"Language, Lord Connington." Sang Tyrion as they swept into the chamber. The one-armed rooster was red-faced and scowling with a crumpled piece of parchment in his good hand. The Lord of the Stormlands was glaring across the table at his Bravossi counterpart.

 

"Your Grace," cried Connington, as she took her seat at the head of the table. "word from Meereen. From this…this _Lady Regent_ you’ve appointed…."

 

"Meereen?" Hissed Daenerys, narrowing her eyes at the parchment the old lord clutched in his hand. "Am I to understand you've opened dispatches from the Bay of Dragons, Connington? Have I not told you repeatedly that this council holds no dominion over my concerns is Essos?"

 

"In this case, Your Grace…"Connington started to bark, but she cut him off.

 

"Unless this has to do with finance it is not something to be discussed in mixed company, My Lord." She shot a look to Noho Dimities, face blank on her right.

 

Connington worked his jowls and then ground out. "Of course, My Queen."

 

Daenerys held out her hand palm up to Lord Connington, he wordlessly passed the parchment over to her. She folded it carefully and pushed it into a pocket of her cloak. "Now, on to business, Master Dimities I believe you have some concern over the collection of levies you wish to discuss."

 

"Indeed, Your Grace,"The Bravossi's nasally voice whistled and was grating to listen too even at the best of times. Daenerys kept her face impassive, but she saw Tyrion slump and sigh beside her. " I've been going over the ledgers left by your previous Master of Coin and I've noticed the levies from Dorne have fallen drastically over the last several harvests. This would explain the deficit you've suffered and thus the lack of coin."

 

"We didn't need a copper counter to tell us that, Dimittis." Groundout Lord Connington. "Any man with a coin purse could have told us the same."

 

"Be that as it may, My Lord," said Dimittis with a sniff. "if the problem is so obvious, why does it remain? I understand there are circumstances surrounding the situation in Dorne, but that does not mean there aren't other ways for them to be taxed. Perhaps they could provide labor in the Reach or builders for King's Landing itself…"

 

" Or perhaps we can just call it a royal privilege and leave it at that." Said a voice. Ser Gerold Dayne flopped down in the chair opposite her in the seat that should belong to the Consort if the man bothered. "Dorne doesn't need to explain itself to the Iron Bank while it holds the crown."

 

If there was one man Daenerys was destined to loath, it was Ser Gerold Dayne, Dark Star he called himself. Silver-haired besides a strip of black that split his crown, purple eyes that were often cold unless angered. Tall, hawkish in appearance, disdainful of those he had little patience for…he was the very vision and mold of her brother Viserys. If Viserys had ever bothered to learn to be truly dangerous.

 

" _I_ hold the crown, Ser." She said glaring at him. "Dorne holds nothing but a seat at this table, which is rarely used."

 

"Come now, Your Grace, surely there are other things used rarer still Red Keep." Said Darkstar with a smirk.

 

"Like your wits, Ser Gerold." Tyrion cut in before Daenerys could all but spit at the knight."No matter their relation to the throne, each Kingdom under our control must pay their due, Dorne included."

 

"We cannot sow without seed though can we, Lord Tyrion." Ser Gerold addressed her Hand, but his eyes never left her own. "I'm sure the queen is aware of such."

 

" _The Queen_ ," barked Daenerys, nostrils flared in anger. " is aware that she has been more than patient with Princess Arianne in this matter. Perhaps our friend from the Iron Bank is right. Tyrion, write to my _good sister_ and inform her that I expect a shipment of something on the turn of the next moon. I don't care if it's a ship full of her myrish dresses, I want it. Anything that can be turned into coin or goods."

 

Darkstar lazily grabbed a goblet off the table in front of him and sat back in his chair, throwing daggers with his eyes, but unwilling to pursue the matter further it seemed.

 

"There are other things we can pursue, Your Grace." Said Dimittis. "I've noticed a few weighty tariffs on certain goods coming from the North. Perhaps if we eased these it would bring in more trade, I have some experience with the Northmen…"

 

"The tariffs were put in place at the insistence of several Lords, Master Dimittis." Said Tyrion. "Namely timber and ore."

 

 _You were one of them Tyrion_ , Daenerys thought trying to hold an eye roll, _wouldn't want to hurt your mining tin and copper out of the Westerlands._

 

"I understand that My Lord Hand, but while you stifle the trade coming out of the North, Essos grows fat on it." Dimittis seemed to hesitate but then sighed. " I understand there is some unusual history between your two nations, however, surely we must be sensible."

 

"Sense is something lost on this council, Master Dimittis." Said Daenerys, she had argued much the same for many years.

 

"Perhaps it's time we redrew the map then." Said Darkstar. "Come, Your Grace, the kingdom you gave to the north certainly isn't the one they now possess. I've heard there are settlements as far as the Frostfangs, mining precious metals and stones. There is no way we could have conceived the snows would melt so far. As far as I'm concerned the North stops at the Wall."

 

"He's right, Your Grace." Huffed Lord Connington. "We thought we were giving away a wasteland covered in snow and instead it was half the continent. Surely, we have some right to the new lands beyond the wall."

 

"Madness," said Tyrion. "might I point out, if you were to make such a claim it could mean war and if anything could be worse than that, the North could push their right of blood over the Riverland's and The Vale. Two Kingdoms I might add who wished they were above the Neck when the map was drawn in first place."

 

"It's been some time since I've been in a real war, it could prove a welcome distraction." Mused Ser Gerold.

 

"You've never been in a _real_ war, Ser." Hissed Daenerys. "I've killed more men than you've ever laid eyes on. Only men with big swords and small minds call the endeavor a distraction."

 

Ser Gerold Dayne's face grew hard, purple eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps it's time I started polishing my sword, _Your Grace_."

 

"I think," said Tyrion calmly. "we are teetering on subjects that Master Dimittis need not be included in."

 

The Bravossi banker made no argument to his dismissal. He simply collected his parchments and rose to take his leave. "Your Grace might I beg an audience this evening, there are some other matters I'd like to discuss."

 

"Of Course, you'll find me in my solar when the sun falls." She sighed. Tyrion gave her a sympathetic look. She stood up. "Gentleman, I find that I no longer wish to continue this meeting, we'll meet again tomorrow in the forenoon."

 

Tyrion and Connington rose with her, Ser Gerold Dayne merely smirked at her and sipped at his goblet when she swept past him.

 

 

+++

 

 _Stupid, insufferable men_. She seethed to herself as she crossed the outer keep again. All those years ago she had warned them. History was on her side, the North was important to the Seven Kingdoms, time and again they had proved it and yet, in the end, the South had been happy to cut ties, joyous even. Didn't want to bother with the refugees crossing the neck. Saw the Northmen as a people who couldn't prepare for their own winter. _They've been telling us about it for years and still couldn't see themselves through._ Crowed one Lord from the Reach. It didn't matter if the one they wanted as queen told them otherwise, had been there when the Night's King's army slaughtered the Knights of the Vale at Long Lake. Had been there when Winterfell and two thousand brave souls holding it had burst into a flash of green flame, heat from it felt atop a hill ten miles away.

 

She had been there when Jon Snow killed a monster and saved them all, everyone. Sometimes she felt as if their only mistake wasn't letting the Army of the Dead march all the way to the Summer Sea. At least then they would know, at least then she wouldn't have had to deal with years of whispers around her about her father's madness. Even death might be preferable to this waking purgatory of wanton ignorance and vile arrogance. Maybe she should let them have their war, they didn't know, none of them did. _Nobody expects Jon Snow, not even me._

 

 _A man with no name is little better than an arm to wield a sword_. Lord Connington had argued. It was the height of irony she remembered. Connington with his stub in a sling, freshly amputated to save himself from greyscale. _That man with no name has someone in his service who can heal greyscale, My Lord, just ask the commander of my Queensguard._

 

Oh, she had enjoyed the look on the Roosters face. The man thought he was doing her a service. Surely the sister to his beloved Rhaegar needed a consort with a title, the breeding of a king, what better man than a _prince._

She stopped her angry march, looking up at her surroundings, well passed the corridor to her own chambers, Daenerys shook her head and found Tyrion joining her.

 

"You shouldn't provoke them like that, Your Grace." Her Hand said quietly. He was slightly out of breath in his quest to catch her she noted.

 

"What would you have me do, Tyrion? They're speaking nonsense. War with the North, can they seriously imagine I'd allow such a thing?"

 

"They imagine you are a queen with her people's best interest in her heart." He said quietly.

 

 

"My life is full of men whole think they know my heart, My Lord. “She said in a harsh whisper. "And who are _my people_ , is it those on the council, in this keep? Is it those beyond the walls who know me little better than a name and a birthright?"

 

"Your people are those that are in need, as it always has been, Your Grace." Tyrion's eyes softened while he spoke the words.

 

Daenerys sighed and nodded to her Unsullied. She watched as the four of them split into pairs and took their stations at either end of the corridor to keep unwanted ears away.

 

"I grow tired of this, Tyrion. I've…" she swallowed. "I've been having dreams…about before."

 

"Dragon dreams?" said Tyrion, his brow rising in hope.

 

"No, Tyrion..I haven't had an inkling of my sons for some time now, though, I believe I would know if they didn't live."She frowned down at the little man. "The only way the dragons will return is if I throw off my own chains, it is the only way. I know it in my bones."

 

It was a conversation they'd had many times. Almost to the minute she had agreed to the southern proposal, the thin tether holding her sons to her had fractured and grown weak as the months and years piled up. She used to ride out to the Kingswood and talk with them in the mornings, trying to make sense of it, all the while they grew more and more distant. Until one morning, they were gone and they didn't come back. That was the day she knew she was truly trapped in a hell of her own making.

 

"A dragon is not a slave," Tyrion said in understanding. "If not the dragon dreams, then what?"

 

"About before, about the long night and about Jon." She said, trying to keep the heat she felt in her stomach from rising to her face. She ran a hand over her brow. "I know what you will say, but my mind will not let it go."

 

"I understand, Your Grace." he reached up and placed a hand on her elbow, kindly, like an uncle she imagined him to be in truth. "Somethings cannot be undone, all we can do it look towards the future. The future of the south may run straight through the Neck."

 

"I will not go to war with him, Tyrion. I will not do it."

 

"Perhaps there is another way." Tyrion paced away from her in thought. "What about reunification?"

 

"Reunifi…Tyrion how would such a thing even work and why would any in the North or South go along with it."

 

"No, listen." He moved a step closer to her. "Dorne is weak at the moment, even if they wanted to raise an Army, they couldn't support it. No grain, no goods. It would sputter and die on the Marches."

 

"And what of the Reach, the Crownlands, we'd still have a rebellion."

 

"The lords of the south are creatures of opportunity, Your Grace, reunification could only fill their coffers. There is a way."

 

"How?" she frowned at him.

 

"The Blackwood girl, what's her name, Beth? She's your kin, though distant, you've been considering naming her your heir." Said Tyrion excitedly. He was like a dog with a rat in its mouth when he had a sudden idea.

 

"You've met her Tyrion, a simple girl she'd never survive." Said Daenerys. In truth, the girl was barely of her blood, but she had no other.

 

"What if she had a proper King beside her?"

 

Daenerys frowned, not liking where this was headed suddenly. "Who?"

 

"Sansa Stark has a son of her age, Prince Rodric. If we could secure a betrothal betwixt the two of them it could be a powerful union. The boy's been brought up in the northern court since he was a babe, if he's anything like his mother, he could do well."

 

"The boy is a…"Daenerys nearly choked before she said the word. "bastard, I think we both know the South is unlikely to accept him."

 

"He was legitimized at birth, Your Grace, he's grown up a prince. I'd wager there isn't a soul in the south that knows of the circumstances on how he came into the world. Beyond that, he is Jon Snow's heir. Imagine it, no bloodshed, no war. Dorne could hardly bat an eye if you named your kin as your heir and then married her to a prince of Westeros." Tyrion laced his fingers together. "Reunification."

 

Daenerys shook her head at her Hand. Tyrion had a way of making things sound simple with words, but they hardly ever turned out that way. She paused and gathered her thoughts, touching on the one she wanted to think of least. "How do we know the boy is still Jon's heir?"

 

"Surely we would have heard of a royal birth, Your Grace. Even if he isn't, it would unite the realm, or at least ease the tensions between the kingdoms and push Dorne away from the throne. It could work."

 

"I…I don't know, Tyrion." She rubbed a hand over her face. "I would have to think on it."

 

Tyrion nodded in understanding. "Think on it quickly, Your Grace. I believe the time grows near that this decision is made for you and not by you."

 

"I'm aware of that, Tyrion." She sighed. She motioned for her guards. "If that is all I'm going to retire for the afternoon."

 

"Of course, Your Grace." Tyrion bowed. "Oh, I was wondering if I might ask a small favor."

 

"Your favors are rarely small, Lord Tyrion." Daenerys frowned at him, _unlike yourself_ , she thought but held it in. The man had heard every variation about his size.

 

"I was wondering if you might speak to Dorna." He said slowly.

 

"Dorna?"

 

"Yes, she's been having trouble adjusting to life here, I believe…she might benefit from your consul rather than mine."

 

"I agreed to let the girl come to King's Landing, Tyrion, I did not know I would be her nurse as well." Daenerys ground out to him.

 

"Please." He said. "You're the most qualified I believe. It might do you some good, at the very least distract you from our current troubles."

 

"Very well, where is she."

 

Tyrion smiled. "Where else would my niece be, Your Grace, the library."

 

++++

 

She frowned when she saw the two Kingsguard outside the library's doors. It was honestly the last thing she felt like dealing with at the moment, but when she had almost decided to leave the matter to another time and eerie feeling settled in her stomach.

 

"Your Grace," mumbled Daemon Sand as she passed the knight. In another time she might have liked the man. He was courteous and respectful. Though the fact that he followed the consort around like a shadow set her against him completely. She nodded to the guards but made sure two of her Unsullied followed her into the musty library.

 

It was quiet and seemed unoccupied. A table before her held a number of books and a half-finished game of cyvasse. Light filtered in from the skylight illuminating the floating dust that hung like a cloud over the place. Daenerys frowned, and ran her eyes over the other empty tables in confusion until a male whisper sounded from an alcove along the wall to her right. It was there she found them.

 

His back was to her, but she knew that splash of dark hair that fell around his shoulders, the orange tunic filigreed with gold lace like vines in the shape of a serpent. Even if he wore nothing but his small clothes she assumed she couldn't miss the ridiculous circlet he insisted on wearing about the court.

 

The girl though seized her heart. Dorna Waters pressed up against a bookshelf, face scrunched to a scowl while a man who called himself a king tried to nuzzle her young neck. A girl of thirteen. Daenerys didn't care who her mother was, no girl would see such treatment in her presence.

 

"You look so much like her." She heard Trystane mumble into the little one's golden hair.

 

"I wasn't aware you met her mother, Consort," Daenerys growled. Then with a calm she didn’t feel looked at the girl. "Dorna, come here child."

 

The green eyes flashed open to her in terror, tears running down her pink cheeks that paled at the sight of her queen standing before her.

 

Trystane slowly let go of the girl's arms and allowed her to squeeze past him. Dorna Waters, the daughter of Cersei Lannister flung herself into Daenerys arms sobbing.

 

"Here, Child, let Red Bear take you to your rooms, I will visit you later." Daenerys said smoothing down the back of the girls head. Reluctantly, the girl let go of her and allowed the unsullied guard to guide her out of the library.

 

"In my defense, I have little love for Queens, wife." Chuckled Trystane, while he straightened his tunic. Daenerys felt a wave of revulsion wash over her when she saw his obvious arousal hidden only by the pair of light trousers he wore. "I was thinking she looked more like her sister."

 

"I should have you whipped." Daenerys hissed at him. "I should have you flogged from the gates of the Red Keep to Rhaeneys hill."

 

"Yes and gelded before the seven, perhaps flayed? I believe that's something those Northmen like to do." Trystane pushed away from the bookshelf and stepped in her direction, coming to tower over her. "I've heard all your threats before Targaryen, they mean little and less to me the more you make them. Perhaps," he hooked a finger around a loose curl that had fallen to her shoulder. "If you were a little kinder to me, I wouldn't need to seek out the warmth of others." He snorted and lightly pulled on the curl while she seethed. "Of course we both know you have no more warmth, that cunt of yours is so cold it like sticking my wick in a bowl of ice."

 

"Thank the gods for that." She sneered at him. "You may leave now, _Consort_."

 

Trystane stepped back with a nod and made to leave, but then turned. "You cannot hide behind your name forever Daenerys Stormborn. Even a _Targaryen_ Queen without heirs is not a queen for long."

 

++++

 

 

The door slammed shut behind her echoing hollowly in her chambers and shook the sconces on either side of it. A startled maid changing her linens hurried out of her room at the sight of her anger.

 

"I am a _dragon_!" she shouted into the empty room, at no one. Suddenly everything in the room that wasn't secured to a surface became a projectile in her hands. Goblets rattled across the floor, a chair kicked over on its side, bottles of scented oil from Essos were shattered in all directions leaving a pleasant aroma to fill the room along with her bitter rage. " I am a dragon." She seethed and flung a desks worth of papers into the air and watched them float down like snowflakes.

 

"Your Grace!"

 

She turned, eyes wide and unseeing until Jorah her old faithful bear was before her having pushed his way into her chambers. His brow was knotted in concern, taking in the shattered remnants of her aggression. He held out his hand as if she was a startled horse that might shy away.

 

"What has happened, Khaleesi?" his voice was quiet, worry dripping from his tongue.

 

"I want to go home, Jorah." She said quietly. "I just want to go home."

 

She collapsed into the one chair she hadn't upended and took her head in her hands.

 

"Then you will, if that is what you wish, Your Grace." Jorah said, shrugging his shoulders as if nothing could be simpler. "I will take you."

 

Daenerys laughed and held up her hand to him. "Forgive me, my old friend. It has just been a trying day."

 

"Is that all?" he rumbled taking in the destruction around them. "The last time…"

 

_Was four years ago when I heard Jon Snow had married another…_

 

"It's nothing like that, Jorah."

 

The old bear nodded and smiled lightly. "I'll go get the maid, she should clean this up."

 

"No," she said sadly. "Let me do it, it was myself that made the mess, I'll clean it up."

 

Jorah raised a brow at her, which made her chuckle.

 

"Just find me a broom, I do know how to use one."

 

He smiled at her, though the concern still hung in his eyes. "I will find the broom and if you like, I will take the watch tonight." He swept an eye over her chambers. "That way if the mood takes you again, you can yell all you like without interruption."

 

"You shouldn't bother, Jorah, you're supposed to be taking it easier."

 

"It's no bother, better than doing paperwork, Your Grace." He gave her an encouraging smile and quickly exited through the door. She could hear his voice rumbling outside her chambers, no doubt easing the tensions of her guards.

 

She pushed herself up from the chair and carefully knelt down to gather the scattered papers, trying to avoid cutting herself on the shattered glass. As she bent, a stiff crinkling sounded in the pocket of her cloak.

 

 _Missandei._ She smiled as she pulled the dispatches from her pocket. Even if it was a simple update, seeing her friends neat looping script might ease her worries. She unfolded the message and ran her eyes over it, blinking several times and then ran her eyes over it again. The postscript she knew she would read many times in the days to come. The missive was so brief and flippant she felt laughter bubbling up inside of her. No wonder old Connington was so upset.

 

_To Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Southern Kingdoms._

_Three moons will have passed by the time you receive this message, but it is my duty to inform you that there was a battle outside the gates of Meereen. Two days past, the Golden Company and its Captains came to our walls seeking shelter in our city. I did not think it wise to allow so many soldiers, no matter my association with them through our gates._

_In the morning, another army appeared and the battle was fought. It is with regret that I say the Golden Company is no more, everyone was put to the sword._

_The city fares well though, and all of your requirements are being met as is your will._

_It has been very strange to come home after such a long absence, Your Grace. So many old friends we have seen. To our astonishment, we woke soon after our arrival here and saw Snow on the mountains to the east. It was a very unusual site, but welcome._

_Missandei of Naath,_

_The Lady Regent of Meereen._

 

"Snow on the mountains in the east." She whispered in wonder. There were no mountains to the east, only the red waste. Snow…Snow…

 

++++

 

Ser Jorah had his hand on the latch, broom in hand when the laughter began. It echoed through the door and down the hall. He shared a glance with the two Unsullied on duty. "The queen has had a very _trying_ day.” He nodded at them, more for his own sake than theirs.

 

The laughter continued when he pushed the door open and for a long while after. For a time it seemed another voice had even joined the Dragon Queen in her mirth.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Dark Words, Little Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A set of Conspirators discuss their future, while the north begins to enact a conspiracy of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up shorter than the others simply because I wrote it and realized...yep, that's what I needed to say.

He drummed his fingers absently on the table, leaning over the map, eyes narrowed trying to imagine if such a thing was possible. He grabbed a piece of string and pulled it taut between Meereen and Braavos, then using that measurement placed it over Westeros. It was a distance that would span Starfall to the Wall. It didn't seem possible and yet…

 

"He must have done it in stages." Darkstar murmured to himself, though he was answered with a snort across the table from him.

 

"Even if he managed it in stages Dayne, we still would have had word from somewhere." Trystane said idly, head cocked sideways trying to look at the map the right way around. "By land or by sea, you couldn't move a whole army without someone noticing." He placed a thin finger over the city of Norvos. "I should write mother, perhaps she's heard something."

 

"We don't know if it was the Bastard King, it could have been a sellsword coalition." Said Connington. The poor old man looked shocked at having suddenly lost his private army. Hard-won leverage erased in the span of a single letter.

 

"Unlike you, Connington," said Ser Gerold straightening from the map. "I had someone speak to a few of those Essosi sailors that brought the dispatches. One of them said he was there in the city when the Golden Company was attacked. An army of at least ten thousand or more appeared without warning.

 

"Ten thousand?" whispered Connington thoughtfully.

 

"There aren't enough sellswords in Essos to make up that type of coalition. You'd have to empty every tavern and brothel on that side of the sea to even make up half that number."Darkstar slumped back into his seat. "And he said something else, something about beasts, wolves if the man is to be trusted."

 

"Wolves?" said Trystane with disgust.

 

"Yes, if the stories are true, Robb Stark rode into battle with a living sigil at his side, a direwolf. It makes sense his bastard brother might do the same." Ser Gerold steepled his fingers in thought. He ran his eyes over the map. They wouldn't have harrowed the Narrow sea, the shipping lanes were too busy to pass through unnoticed. He stared at the strip of blue marked 'The Shivering Sea'. Shivering no longer, he knew from the stories. He traced a line from Eastwatch by the Sea, passed Braavos, Lorath, all the way passed the Forest of Qohor. It was possible, even a fleet of a hundred ships wouldn't necessarily be seen in the sparse shipping lane to Ibben. Then what though? Find a deep harbor, someplace uninhabited, but plenty of water. His eyes moved south imagining the hundreds of miles on the march in a foreign land. How would he manage it, surely he would need support?

 

His eyes lingered on the only city in the vast Dothraki Sea. Of course. He ran his hand over his face laughing. He found himself liking this Jon Snow.

 

"I not sure I find what's so funny, Dayne," Connington said with a grimace.

 

"He used the Dothraki he has under his command. They crossed the grasslands and caught Strickland like a falcon does a sparrow. It's quite remarkable actually."

 

"Even if that is true, Dayne." Said Trystane, shaking his head slowly. "Somehow the North knew _why_ the Golden Company was in Meereen…"

 

"Which means," growled Connington. "we can’t leverage the Bay of Dragons against the Queen.”

 

Yes, Ser Gerold thought, that is a problem. He sometimes wished he had stronger men around him, perhaps then he wouldn't need leverage against stroppy queens. He looked up at the King, sighing inwardly, more a fucking boy than anything no matter his age. The Lord of the Stormlands, Connington? The man seemed to grow weaker every day. Perhaps the greyscale had spread into his mind and not only his arm after all. He wished the princess were here to aide him, he would have to seek her counsel.

 

No, for now, he would have to be his own counsel.

 

"It doesn't matter how he knew, the deed is done and we must make the best of it. I can set some trusted men to whispers in the city. Perhaps…"The idea was seeping into his mind, yes, there was a way. "…the Golden Company was defending Meereen, and it's suspected the North has moved against our queen. Rumors can be powerful tools."

 

"Hmmm, I see." Said Connington in thought running his good hand over his greying beard. "Turn the people's favor against the North. Even if the queen herself doesn't wish it, if enough people believe, it could gain us more support from the Lords."

 

"Exactly, force her hand." Said Ser Gerold.

 

"We waste time," spat Trystane suddenly. He pushed away from the table and walked across his solar, staring out into the Blackwater. "What news from the Starry Sept, Dayne?"

 

"Nothing as of yet, but the Grand Maester thinks the High Septon will still push for a Great Council, no matter what lies the Queen has told."

 

"Lies? She's betrayed the whole Realm, Ser Gerold." Said Trystane. "She's put the entire Kingdom on the course to civil war with her failing to produce an heir. It only makes it worse that she knew of it from the beginning."

 

"If we leave it to the council the Faith will use the opportunity to further gain control. I hear Hightower has spent quite a bit of coin recently on additions to the Starry Sept." said Connington thoughtfully. "The loss of the Company is a savage blow, Ser Gerold. We will have need of their blades."

 

"Hightower won't be a problem and neither will the Faith, Lord Connington," said Trystane. A slow smile spread across his face. "We're taking measures."

 

Connington's eyebrows rose, looking in between the two of them. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

 

Darkstar sighed, he really wished the King would have kept his fucking mouth shut. "A year ago House Qorgyle abandoned Sandstone, the place is falling back into the dunes. I've been harboring them here…." He tapped the map at his house seat High Hermitage. "On the western side of the Torentine. Should Hightower wish to align himself with the Faith against us, which he will, they along with my bannerman and those of House Blackmount, will be marching on Oldtown within days to capture the city."

 

"You would make war on the Reach?" gasped Connington. “I thought you just wished to keep the Queen and the faith in check?”

 

"We don't have a choice," Trystane answered him. " It's only a matter of _when_ at this point. The draught in Dorne has not been exaggerated. In truth, as my sister tells us, it is far worse. As Ser Gerold said, Sandstone is falling back into the sand. At Hellholt, the upper Brimstone ran to a mere trickle for weeks before the summer rains quenched its thirst. If something doesn't change soon, more will be abandoning their homes and leaving for other climates and the might of Dorne will leave with them, swearing fealty to other kingdoms."

 

"What we lack in goods, we make up in swords and spears, Lord Connington." Said Darkstar. "We plan to export them. The Reach is still weak from the wars, I have it on good authority even Hightower himself isn't sure what numbers he could field should it come to it. Dorne still wields near fifty thousand fighting men."

 

"So you see, Lord Connington, the Stormlands being our neighbor and natural ally, we expect your continued support." Trystane coming to stand before Connington, pulling himself up to his full height. "I realize, My Lord, I was not the King you wished. Had Aegon lived my cousin wouldn't have had a more faithful servant than I. But he is gone and we need to make the best of this now."

 

"Of course, Your Grace." Said Connington solemnly. He bowed his head in thought for a moment. "I will follow as is your will, but…I will not be a party to harming the sister of my prince. He may be long dead, but she is the last of her kind and though you hold no love for her, I would ask mercy."

 

Trystane and Ser Gerold shared a look between them, wordlessly agreeing. "The queen is of little use to us dead, My Lord, her name still carries weight with many. She will be treated fairly. Should she agree, she will keep Dragonstone until her death before it falls to one of my son's as will be his birthright."

 

"Thank you, Your Grace." Said Connington. He ran his eyes over the map in front of them frowning. "If I may, what of the rest of the Kingdoms? Even if you subdue the Reach, the others won't follow willingly."

 

"Our only real threat in the south are the Westerlands." Said Trystane, he looked up at Ser Gerold. "We're working on a way to appease Lord Tyrion."

 

Darkstar shook his head in warning for the King to keep his tongue stilled further.

 

"I see." Said Connington looking between them. "In the South you say?"

 

"Yes." Ser Gerold pursed his lips. "We're not fool enough to think that the Bastard King in the North won't use the chaos of war to further his own ambitions. That's why we were going rely on you to see that he is occupied while we go about our work in the south."

 

"Forgive me, Ser." Said Connington. "We know next to nothing of the inner workings of the North, I'll not march my men into the unknown."

 

"I don't ask you too, Connington." Said Ser Gerold. He shifted the map towards the old Lord and tapped a small dot along the Shivering Sea. "This is a settlement called Hardhome, rumors say it is used as a staging for the North's mining operation in the Frostfangs. Nothing more than a few thousand souls and lightly garrisoned. Five hundred men could take it and hold it for weeks, at least long enough to gain the attention of the Bastard King. Once he's on the march North, you simply have to fade back into the water. It will buy us enough time to secure the throne. Once that's completed, we can take further measures in securing the seventh of our Kingdoms."

 

"Seventh?" Whispered Connington in surprise. "You mean to conqueror them?"

 

"The Iron Throne may not be my birthright, My Lord." Said Trystane firmly. "But it was my father's wish that one of Martell blood would hold sway over the Seven Kingdoms, I aim to see it done. With your help as my Hand, if you will lend it"

 

"Your Hand, Your Grace?" Connington shot Ser Gerold a look. "Surely Darkstar…"

 

"I was born to be a man of war, Lord Connington." Said Ser Gerold. " That is _my_ birthright. It is time I started to claim it."

 

 

+++

 

"Do you think he can be trusted?" Trystane said quietly, once Lord Connington had taken his leave.

 

"It doesn't matter if he was the one that betrayed our plans in Meereen I'll eat my horse. It would make little sense for him to do so." Said Ser Gerold, lounging upon a chair on the balcony. "Connington is bitterly disappointed in the dragon bitch for all his honorable talk and there is little more than quiet contempt for him in her. He'll not betray us."

 

"Still we should have him watched." Said Trystane leaning up against the railing watching the sun dip into the Blackwater.

 

"As we always do, My King." Said Ser Gerold.

 

"One of these days you're going to call me that and actually mean it, Darkstar." Chuckled Trystane.

 

"One day, perhaps." Ser Gerold took a sip of his wine, relishing in the sour bite as it hit his tongue. He watched Trystane thoughtfully. "That was a good bit of mummery for Connington, about the Queen. Even I believed you for a moment."

 

"Connington is a fool if he thinks she can live." Said Trystane turning. "There would always be those that questioned my hold on the throne while she draws breath. Her death won't be without worth though."

 

"No, I suppose not."

 

A small bird hopped along the railing until Trystane flashed a hand at it, upsetting his goblet and splashing wine on his tunic.

 

"Damn thing." hissed Trystane shaking his wet hand. He looked at his ruined sleeve with disgust and pulled the offending tunic over his head. Then lazily tossed it off the balcony and let the wind take it to the water below.

 

"Seven hells, Trystane." Ser Gerold sighed.

 

"What? it was ruined." Shrugged the King, walking into his chambers to fetch another.

 

Darkstar shook his head at the man's retreating back. Would that he had been born a prince like that fool he would rule the Seven Kingdoms without trickery at all.

 

++++

 

There was a strong headwind buffeting his wings as his little friend made his way back. He could feel the frustration growing through their connection, but he gently pressed on until the ship came into view, his own face a small dot against the deck and expanse of darkening water surrounding them. It was always a strange experience to see himself from the outside through the eyes of another, sandy brown hair windblown and freckled face red from the sun. Father always said he favored his mother so much it seemed she was still with him sometimes. Father. It never failed to bring a smile to Sam's face when he pictured his father hunched over a book, eyes squinting in the candlelight while he read some ancient tome from this place or that. He would be glad to see him again. Soon.

 

"Come on then, Jitters," Sam said to the little finch offering his shoulder up. As soon as he felt the little talon's dig into his cloak he came back to himself, eyesight rolling and confused for a beat before he was looking out onto the shoreline, the Red Keep rising over them while they pulled into Blackwater Rush. He spared Jitters a few crumbs of bread before the bird hopped away and capered about the masts and lines until settling in a nest at the mizzen mast.

 

"We've got a problem," Sam said as an announcement when he took the steps below deck two at a time.

 

Edd looked up from his stew with a frown, muttering a quiet 'fook' under his breath.

 

"Don't tell me, the fookin' sky in fallen and King's Landin' ain't where it's sposed to be." Grumbled Eddison Tollet.

 

"I heard that silver-haired prick and the Martell cunt talkin'" said Sam. "They was talkin' to some other lord but Jitters couldn't get close enough to hear nothin'. But after they talked just the two of them for a bit. Talk of killin' the queen and it weren't no idle words I'd wager."

 

"First, Samwell, stop talkin' like me you little fookin' mimic…" frowned Edd. "Your Father's goin' ta flay me if you come home speakin' like tha."

 

"Of course, My Lord." Said Sam with a well-practiced bow.

 

"Don't call me no fuckin' _Lord_ neither. I'm Edd, whose known you long enough to take you over a knee, six and ten summers or not you little shit." Grimaced the Lord of Castle Black. "Secondly, we don't move until Davos joins us, it's him tha knows the city best."

 

"What if something happens before though." Frowned Sam.

 

"We can't know what we can't know, Sam." Said Edd, before drinking from his horn. "We wait for Davos."

 

"I could get a note to the queen," said Sam. "Warn her, or Ser Jorah maybe."

 

Edd gave him a frown over the top of his horn.

 

"Right, we wait for Davos." Muttered Samwell taking a seat alongside Edd. He ladled a bowl of stew for himself and poured an ale made difficult with the slow roll of the ship. If they had to wait, he might as well eat. Sam figured a man could work up quite an appetite while he waited to kidnap a queen.

 

"Curse the day I met, Jon Snow." Grumbled Edd into his cup next to him.


	7. Nothin' Fooks Ya Harder than time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragon queen greets the former hand to the king.

King’s Landing:

 

 

“This is a dumb fookin’ idea, Davos.”

 

Sam silently agreed with Edd as he fingered the hilt of the short sword under his cloak. He walked a pace behind the older men, next to the silent Dothraki guard that Davos had arrived with the night before; in nothing more than a rowboat. Their only companions a sack of grain and a small wooden chest.

 

“Better to be invited than to sneak our way in, I’d say. Lord Tyrion sent a very warm invitation after my note to him.” Davos locked his arms behind his back and continued on his way, head high as if he was a lord surveying his own land and not in a city that could very well kill them all, he even managed a jaunty hum as he strode along. Sam watched the ever-growing bald spot on the back of the old man’s head and shifted the sack of grain from one shoulder to the other. Whatever he’d expected by taking the King’s commission, that had not been it.

 

They crossed Fishmongers square in a storm of demanding gulls lusting after scraps littered across the ground. The shouts of merchants offering their wares rising with the angry cries of the birds in an unpleasant melody while they snaked their way through the crowd. Sam had never known such restriction, the press of close bodies that constantly jostled him. He could only imagine this must be what being in the vanguard of a battle must feel like, only less stabby unless one was unlucky. He watched as a young girl with a cart shoved an oyster in the face of his Dothraki companion only to be batted away with a sharp slap of his hand.

 

“Fuck you too, Savage.” She called after him. Sam heard the man growl under his breath and oddly enough, roll his eyes.

 

“Stop drawin’ attention to us.” Hissed Edd over his shoulder. His constant frown having deepened with every step he took further into King’s Landing. They broke from the crowd and Davos went to the right through a narrow alley sprinkled only with a few beggars shaking small wooden bowls at their passing, eyes cast down. Edd leaned over to Davos. “What if this doesn’t work?”

 

“No reason why it wouldn’t.” shrugged Davos. He led them to the left along another narrow alley. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll just improvise.”

 

“You’ve spent too many years with Jon, thought it was sposed to be you to influence him,” Edd said sourly, making Davos’ shoulders shake in a silent chuckle.

 

A woman suddenly leaned out of a doorway stopping Sam in his path. “Care for a tumble my Lord?” She purred at him, the stink of wine thick on her breath. Sam recoiled with wide eyes which sent the woman into a fit of giggles that shook her vast bosom. “A maid is it?” Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners, pouty lips puckered in thought. “I like maids, My Lord. They usually pay to go twice.”

 

“I..I’m no maid.” Stuttered Sam. “I have a woman.”

 

“Come along, Sam,”Davos called to him. “Wouldn’t want me to start tellin’ stories to Volga.”

 

Sam hurried to catch up to them, the sack of grain slapping his back as if it approved of him turning the lady down. Volga was liable to cut his cock off if she ever heard how long he’d stared at that woman’s breasts. You didn’t cross a freefolk woman, they were fucking vicious.

 

“Gods Sam, you act like you’ve never seen a whore before boy.” Said Edd.

“I live at Snow’s End not White Harbor, _My Lord_.” Sam snapped back at him.

 

He ignored the sniggers and the disapproving sideways glance from the Dothraki and continued following the others up the hill towards the looming Red Keep, growing taller with every breath they took.

 

++++

 

 

“It’s so light, it would feel as if wearing the wind, Your Grace.” Marveled the girl turning this way and that, the vibrant purple dress held tightly to her lilith form. Daenerys smiled at the astonished reflection in the polished glass, green eyes wide in wonder. Dorna turned to her, brow furrowed in disbelief. “You really never wear any of these? I should think the ladies of the court would go mad with envy.”

 

“I do not think it would be appropriate.” Daenerys smirked at her. “I can’t imagine what the Septon’s would say. It might even set the Silent Sisters gossiping.”

 

Dorna giggled and placed the dress on their growing pile as each garment was pulled from the wardrobe. “I know what the lords would say.” She said, blushing prettily and catching the queen’s eye in the looking glass. “Only the other day I heard Lord Jordayne remark you were the most handsome woman he ever saw.” The girl quirked an eyebrow, something that she was remarkably good at. “It must be high praise. Lord Jordayne is very old, I should think he’s seen quite a few women.”

 

Daenerys past an appraising glance at herself in the mirror. In truth, she thought a few lines of worry around her mouth and upon her brow might curb the heavy gaze of some lord’s though it hadn’t seemed to. Her hips had widened a little, but her waist was still small from the constant worry of her reign. Not that anyone would know it in her usual garb of high necked dresses, thick wool grey or black with red trim, always adorned with her silver dragon chain. How the ladies of the court would laugh if they knew that the queen of the southern kingdoms had a mere five dresses that she constantly rotated through the week. Scandalized no doubt. Some of those silly twits must have a dress for every day of the year.

 

“I did not mean to offend, Your Grace,” Dorna said quietly, bright eyes worried.

 

“You did not, child.” Said Daenerys coming to herself with a deep breath. “It’s come to me that your uncle would not be a very good consular when it comes to the ways of men.”

 

Dorna blushed and for a moment turned back to the wardrobe, running her fingers along the silky folds. Daenerys saw her head briefly dip and she swallowed nervously. “I have not been near the king since that day, Your Grace. My uncle was very cross with me.” The girl looked up with a small smile. “I have always kept Red Bear in my company wherever I go as you said I should. “She made a sour face. “Except to the privy.”

 

Daenerys couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past her lips. “No, I don’t suppose that would do would it.” She gave the girl a smile. “And your uncle wasn’t cross with you, he was worried.”

 

Dorna nodded but kept her eyes down. She idly pulled a lock of golden hair behind her ear and at that moment when Daenerys took in the gentle curve of the girl's nose and dusty pink of her cheek against the alabaster skin, she saw the little ones future so clearly, it made her stomach sick. She would be a great beauty, one day. When Daenerys had withered away to a sack of old bones, knowing lords would say Dorna Waters was the most handsome woman they ever laid eyes on. It gave her the greatest sense of pity, knowing what lay ahead for this innocent youth.

 

“Dorna, go and sit in the chair, I want to show you something,” Daenerys said, watching the girl silently walk to the set of chairs beside the brazier. She went to the wardrobe, ignoring the side that contained her collection of Essosi dresses, and opened the opposite. There was only one item, hung carefully on a pair of hooks, preserved like some zealots talisman to ward off evil. She ran her hand over the sable fur for a moment, watching how the downy hairs glided between her fingers, remembering the great sense of warmth and protection from the first moment it was placed around her shoulders. She carefully pulled it off the hooks and slung it over her forearm, fighting against the torment of tears with a lifetime built on composure.

 

“Do you know what this is?” Daenerys said, sitting across from Dorna, laying the cloak across her lap. She watched a the thin pale fingers of the girl brushed the wolf fur at the collar, running across the black knit wool to the white sigil painstakingly stitched by a loving sister long ago.

 

“A maiden cloak?” said Dorna without looking up.

 

Daenerys shifted the cloak in her lap so that the red three-headed dragon was facing the white wolf. She brushed the sigils with her palm, lost in the memory of wet knees from the snow and the positively shocked look on Jon’s face as he swung the cloak around her shoulders. No doubt the man thought she might bolt out of the godswood at any moment, but in truth, she had never been surer of anything in her life when they knelt before the weirwood.

 

“Do you know who gave it to me?” the tremor in her voice made Dorna look up at her, eyes searching hers. The little girl blinked and nodded.

 

“The King in the North.” She said simply.

 

“He was not just a King to me, Dorna.” Daenerys breathed. “He was Jon, _my_ Jon. You will not understand this yet, but in a year or two, there will be men that say things to you. Pretty things, things you’ll like to hear. They’ll use words like lovely, beautiful, fair, comely.” The queen breathed in an out, collecting herself. “I want you to ignore them all, Dorna. Men say things to get what they want, things that they believe you want to hear.” She reached out and grabbed the girls hand lightly, not sure of which hand contained the tremble. “Look for the man who does not say those things. _Your_ Jon will ask you questions, he will be curious about who you are. He will deny himself to be like all the others that will surround you. That will be your Jon, promise me you’ll wait for him. I assure you he will come.”

 

“I promise,” Dorna whispered. The girl made to take her hand away, but Daenerys held firm.

 

“Dorna, you and I have much in common and you have much in common with Jon Snow, he is a base born like you.”

 

“I know what I am.” Dorna said, she tried to blink the gathering tears away but had to use her free hand wipe away one that escaped.

 

“You are more than a name,” Daenerys said fiercely. It was something that she had whispered to herself so many times over the years they spilled from her mouth like an oath. “You will always be more than a name. I know that you must think me terribly cruel that I have not legitimized you as your uncle wishes, but when you’re older, you will see what a gift you’ve been given, child. You’ll never be sold off as I and so many others have been. You’ll never have to stomach a husband that you don’t love because someone other than yourself decided it made sense to do it.”

 

“Uncle would never do that to me.” Dorna cried the tears falling so fast now she didn’t have enough fingers for all of them.

 

“All uncles do it and fathers...brothers, too.” Said Daenerys fighting back tears of her own. “I meant to stop all of that, Dorna. I meant to break the wheel that crushed so many beneath it, but I failed. I will not fail you, sweetling.”

 

Dorna ran a forearm over her nose, milky white skin blotched red and gleaming with tears. “I’m afraid.” She said. “What happens when uncle is gone, he cannot live forever.”

 

“If your uncle cannot care for you Dorna, then I will care for you,” Daenerys vowed. _Gods, the daughter of Cersei Lannister_. “It is no secret I held no love for your mother, but your father, though a complicated man, deserved to have a daughter like you. He would have loved you very much, I’m sure of it.”

 

Something like a sob concealed within a laugh escaped the girl's throat and a pretty smile split her lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys sat there for a minute, rubbing her thumb over the back of the delicate hand clutched in her own. They both collected themselves. She stood and paced to the wardrobe to place the cherished cloak back upon it hooks.

 

“Do you never wear it, Your Grace?” She heard the small voice say behind her.

 

Daenerys smoothed a palm over the warm wool, she smiled over her shoulder. “Out there?” she cocked her head towards the door. “Never. But in here, I like to wrap myself in it while I read.” She placed the cloak on the hooks and with one last look at it, slowly shut the door. “And I read every night, Dorna.”

 

The girl tried to hide the giggle behind her hand, but the brightened eyes gave her away.

 

There was a sharp knock at the door and Tyrion appeared at the queen's summons. He warily eyed the pile of silk that was nearly as tall as he was.

 

“We were discussing Essoi garments today, Uncle.” Said Dorna, giggling at the horrified face he made.

 

“I’d rather you didn’t if I’m honest.” Frowning briefly at Daenerys before he appeared to remember why he came. “Your Grace, if you remember this morning I mentioned a query from Ser Davos Seaworth about an official audience.”

 

“I do.” Said Daenerys, her heart quickened at the thought of it but held herself in check.

 

“I’ve had a rather curiously quick reply.” He held up a piece of parchment. “It appears he’s in King’s Landing and he’s coming here.” His brow rose. “Now.”

 

Daenerys smile dropped. _Well, that can’t be good._

 

++++

 

“I don’t care if you’re the Stranger himself.” Barked the red-cloaked knight, “You’re not entering the Keep with those blades.”

 

Sam sighed. The argument had been going on for several minutes now, with Davos serenely explaining to the Kingsguard that as an emissary of the Northern Kingdom, he was allowed an honor guard as was his right. The knight in question had run an eye over the four of them, a boy, skinny Edd Tollett, the stone-faced Dothraki and Davos, the oldest man Sam knew. Even by Sam’s estimation, they hardly looked the type of would-be assassins one would imagine.

 

“Looks more like a rabble than an honor guard, Ser.” Sneered the knight at them.

 

“Ser Davos!” a voice cried and Sam watched as an older knight appeared. A smile crinkling his grey eyes. He had an air of familiarity for Sam, this must be Ser Jorah, he thought idly. He didn’t exactly remember the man personally, but father often spoke highly of him. He watched as the man gripped Davos’ hand in friendship then dipped his head at Edd. “Mai Ki mountains bless yeri hrazef lord.” Said the knight to the Dothraki.

 

“Ma yeri, Jorah the Andal.” Rumbled the Dothraki.

 

The old knight snorted. “Been a long time since someone’s called me that.” He turned to Sam, lips upturned with something like disbelief on his face, he glanced quickly at Davos who gave a small nod to him. “Little Sam?”

 

“Aye, Ser Jorah.” Said Sam with a bow. “My father sends his regards and hopes I find you in good health.”

 

“He does,” said Ser Jorah, grey eyes running over Sam’s face. “You do so look like your mother, boy. How fares she?”

 

Sam flinched. “Gone, Ser. The child bed took her from us, but gifted a sister to me and daughter to father.”

 

“Apologies, Samwell.” Said Jorah, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She was a fine faithful woman. I’m sure she’s well missed.”

 

“She is, Ser.” Said Sam quietly.

 

Ser Jorah squeezed his shoulder kindly one last time and turned to Ser Davos. “The queen awaits.”

 

“Lead the way, friend.” Said Ser Davos and the five of them started across the outer keep, Maegor’s holdfast towering over them.

 

Sam saw two unsullied guards sparing in the afternoon sunshine, their short swords darting and ringing against each other. As the group walked past the two pushed apart and watched. Little Sam pushed back his cloak, revealing his own unsullied blade, with its simple black leather grip sheathed at his side. One of the eunuchs graced a small smile on his lips and nodded to him. He’d grown up around men like that, the Master at Arms at Snow’s End was a former unsullied named Yellow Toad who was amongst the finest warriors Sam had ever met and like many of his brothers seemed to have this quiet kindness to him. His father had told him that he believed it was their own stolen childhood that made the former slaves gentle toward young people. Yellow Toad himself had a fat freefolk wife he’d found somewhere with a brood of eight that the unsullied raised as his own. Where they might be seen as outcasts lost and forgotten in the North, the unsullied were prized companions for many northern widows who wanted companionship but not burdens of the marriage bed. Of course, according to Yellow Toad, many were prized _specifically_ for what they provided in the marriage bed.

 

Sam snorted to himself and the Dothraki next to him nudged him, bringing him back to the fact that they were walking into a notorious fortress where the majority of the people in it wouldn’t care if they were all dead by the evening. There were few people about, which seemed to surprise him considering the size of the Red Keep. Princess Sansa had told him repeatedly to keep his eyes sharp and opinions to himself while in the south. So far he didn’t have much of opinion of the place, other than the city stank like shit and he hadn’t met anyone yet he would have traded for the lowest man or woman in the north. Perhaps the Princess had a point, he thought wryly.

 

The crossed a square of red flagstones and approached a set of giant oak doors emblazoned on either side with the sigil of the three-headed dragon. An Unsullied guard stood to the left in his simple black armor and black cloak, spear in hand. To the right, a Kingsguard in bright gold armor and red cloak. Queensguard, Kingsguard…Sam realized that he was about to see the Martell King face to face, he was far more used to seeing the man through tiny eyes. This could prove interesting.

 

The two guards pulled the doors open as they approached and Sam tried to hide his trepidation as he stepped into the throne room of the great Targaryen dynasty of legend, because where he thought he might see the queen and her hand, perhaps the pretender king as well, he was not prepared to see a hundred set of eyes swing to meet their arrival. It seemed every lord and lady of the south had met them, each with blank faces and cold fire in their eyes. 

 

 _Keep your head up_ , he heard his father say in his head, _meet their eyes, you’re a Lord, Samwell, as great a lord as any._

 

So he did as his father taught him and met those cold gazes with one of his own, though it was a little hard to play the proud northern lord while hoisting a sack of grain over his back, he kept an easy hand on the pommel of his blade, if he had a third arm he would have carried a book. Warrior, scholar, merchant were the three principles taught to every boy and girl of the north. It was their way of surviving even the darkest of nights and the coldest of winters should it ever come again.

 

Ser Jorah left them to stand at a little man’s side at the foot of the dais. Lord Tyrion Lannister, Sam believed, the Imp as many in the north still called him. To the left of dais stood the tall silver-haired Ser Gerold Dayne. Sam eyed the sword at his hip, the famous blade Dawn. He wondered briefly how many of his kin the dangerous knight had killed to own that sword and for no one to question his right to it.

 

“Welcome, My Lords.” Said a melodious voice and Sam’s eyes were drawn upward toward the throne of a thousand swords. Upon it sat the queen. It was one thing to have the stories told to him, even when people that knew her spoke of the Dragon Queen with a mark of reverence usually reserved for stories out of the age of heroes. They always said to look at her was to see a bit of old Valyria made real. Silver hair drawn up into a simple crown of braids with a sheet of curls hung like a mantle across her shoulders. Skin that glowed brightly like summer snow before any man had ever touched it. A countenance at once soft and warm, but with a hint of the hardest steel. Amythest eyes that danced like a storm at dusk brushed with spears of lightning. It was true what they said, she truly was something out of legend, something other than a simple queen.

 

Sam felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. This was the woman he was told used to bathe him as a babe and hummed a song of her own making while she washed him. What a terrifying thought.

 

++++

 

_“Welcome, My Lords.”_

 

Daenerys cursed herself when the watery blue eyes of Ser Davos took her in. There were few men she’d met in her life that she might shy away from, that she might let give her a proper dressing down as she knew he might put it; she had seen him do it often enough to his own King. It Davos, twelve years ago, that had warned her. It was the sage man with a fleabottom accent that had all but begged her to wait. No, that had begged, on behalf of his King who lay prostrate in a bed and wouldn’t wake. It hadn’t been the plea of a Hand, but the plea of a father to an overconfident young queen that he saw as his good daughter in all but blood. _Wait, Your Grace, wait for your King to wake before you go._ If only the man knew how many times she’d gone back to that moment in the keep at Moat Cailin when he’d nearly swayed her to stay, but the cry of her mighty sons in the sky  above and the thought of her birthright nearly in hand had been all she needed to swing her mount and gallop through the gates. _Foolish Girl._

She expected the man to rage at her, to spit, to at the very least give her a knowing ‘I told you so’ frown, but that wasn’t the way of Ser Davos, he bowed his head in deference, perhaps even in grief at the sight of her on the Iron Throne and spoke softly.

 

“I cannot say enough, My Queen, how pleased I am to see you well.” Said Ser Davos.

 

 _My Queen_. A tremor went up her spine at the words and a well of love pooled in her stomach for this man who she had admired so much. She was not forgotten to him and if she was not to the old Ser, then perhaps she was not forgotten to his King.

 

“I believe,”Ser Davos said motioning to his left. “ you may remember Lord Edd Tollet of Castle Black.” The now grey-haired Dolorous Edd bowed his head, giving her an unreadable look. She remembered him well for his loyalty to Jon and a wit as dry as the Red Waste.

 

“I remember you well, Lord Commander.” She nodded to him.

 

“Just Lord now, Yer Grace. Jon made me the master of Castle Black and the surroundin’ lands.” Said Edd. “Sounds better than it is. Most of it’s underwater on account of the wall meltin’”

 

Some sniggers rose up amongst the court. Daenerys looked up forgetting they had such an audience. Damn the whispers of the Red Keep, had it been her and these men alone she might have a warm embrace from Ser Davos without so much as a gasp of surprise.

 

“And this, Young Lord, My Queen is my protector.” Ser Davos motioned to his right to the young man with short sandy brown hair and piercing blue eyes.  “Heir to Queenscrown in the North and rightful Heir to Horn Hill in South. Samwell Tarly.”

 

 _Little Sam_ , gods had it been so long that even the babes had grown so much. The little boy that had fallen asleep in her lap many an evening in the library at Winterfell, that had brushed small hands over her face in affection and made her wish for things that were never hers to wish. She looked at the young man’s eyes, hoping that he knew how much she had doted on him as a little thing at his mother's breast.

 

“Welcome, Lord Tarly,” Daenerys said, swallowing. “I remember you well.” _Craven woman_ , she spat at herself, _tell him you remember singing to him as a babe._

 

“Thank you, Your Grace. My father sends his warmest regards.” Said the Young Lord with a bow, made awkward with a sack slung over his back. She eyed the sack with an amusement, remembering that in the north, even the lords didn’t mind being seen using their hands to house their own wares. She missed the simplicity.

 

The simplicity was smashed a moment later by the man standing at her side. Trystane, in a crimson tunic, golden circlet mounted on his dark brow. Daenerys sighed, this is where things were going to get ugly.

 

“You’ve called, my wife, your queen, twice now Northman. Are you here to bend the knee to the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms?” said Trystane.

 

“Wrong on two accounts, Your Grace.” Said Ser Davos, she was amazed he said the honorific without irony. “I was born in fleabottom, knighted in the Stormlands. I’ve served two kings and am quite happy with the second. This old man is unlikely to serve a third in this lifetime.”

 

She saw Trytane tense and form an answer on his tongue. The stupid man didn’t realize how far out of his depth he truly was.

 

“Perhaps then, Ser Davos.” Said Tyrion quickly, stepping forward.  “We might speak of why you’ve come, and quite suddenly if I might say.”

 

“Aide, Lord Tyrion.” Said Davos simply, he motioned to Samwell and the young man swung the sack over to Ser Davos. “We’ve heard that you’ve had some trouble producin’ proper stores of grain in recent years.” He opened the sack and carefully palmed a few white kernels in his hand. “this comes from the Yi Ti empire. Grows wild and abundant there, but in the southern parts of Essos, they’ve devised a way to cultivate it. With the proper irrigation, it does quite well in warmer climates. Takes less water than trees and corn. Lord Tollet here.” He motioned to Edd. “though he doesn’t’ want to admit it, uses that land that's _under water_ as he put it, to grow acres upon acres of the stuff. Rice King, they call him at the wall.”

 

“Rice?” Said Daenerys, remembering her time in Meereen. “I know it well, the people in the Bay of Dragons use it with near every meal. I believe it grows  well even in that hot climate.”

 

“I believe it does, Your Grace. We believe that” Ser Davos, as he nodded a head to Trystane. “Even in a drought, the land could be built up and cultivated as such that it could see Dorne into quite a boon.”

 

Daenerys sniffed and smirked, she didn’t care who saw her love for this old man. “It’s nice to hear solutions rather than excuses, Ser Davos.” The court murmured, even Lord Tyrion shot her a disapproving look, but she cared not. This was the counsel she needed. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to join my council?”

 

Ser Davos gave her an indulgent smile. “I’m afraid I spend far to much time in my little skiff trolling for fish these days, Your Grace. You’d never know I was here at all even if I could be tempted to agree.”

 

 _And you’d never agree, which is why I envy you, Ser._ Thought Daenerys.

 

“Dorne doesn’t need the support of your Bastard King.” Hissed Trystane. “Especially now that we’ve learned what sort of trade the north has done in Essos.”

 

“I’m not sure I follow, Your Grace.” Said Ser Davos evenly.

 

“We’ve heard the whispers, how the northern army attacked Meereen and put the gallant Golden Company to the sword while they defended it, try and deny what your Bastard has done.”

 

“Consort, watch your tongue.” Whispered Daenerys, trying to grip at the man’s forearm, but he ripped it away.

 

Davos narrowed his eyes at them. She saw how he was trying to gauge exactly what it was between them, she knew her Jon would hear every detail of it.

 

“That we attacked Meereen? I deny without question.” He turned to look at her. “That the Golden Company was put to the sword? Of course, they were, they held to their gold far more bitterly than one might think.”

 

The court murmured, already beginning its rumor milling. Daenerys sighed. Davos frowned and spoke.

 

“Is there some affiliation with the southern crown and the Golden Company that we’re not aware of?” the old knight said innocently.

 

“I knew those men well, many were friends to me.” Said Lord Connington stepping forward and the trap was so obvious Daenerys didn’t even feel back for the Lord of the Stormlands.

 

“I was once great friends with a pirate, My Lord.” Said Davos with a grin. “He’s dead for _reaching_ for things that weren’t his as well.”

 

 _Reaching._ Daenerys narrowed her eyes at the way Lord Connington paled at the emphasis on Ser Davos’ lips. Reach. She glanced over at Tyrion and saw that he too had the same thought with the worry in his mismatched eyes.

 

“So you admit it?” said Ser Gerold stepping forward. “The North moved against the Golden Company on the Queens own holdings.”

 

“I’ve no reason to deny it, it’s the truth, “said Ser Davos with a shrug. “wasn’t anything other than the business of the Iron Bank.”

 

 _Oh_. She thought.

 

“Some years ago the Golden Company entered into a contract with the Iron Bank for an expedition to the Jade Sea. The Company did not deliver on that contract and the bank sought a way to resolve it. As the Sellswords had the wealth of a nation amongst them, it took the might of nation to subdue them. The location was simple coincidence.” Davos looked over at Lord Connington. “You know all about coincidence, I believe, My Lord.”

 

“It’s true, Your Grace.” Said Noho Dimittis stepping away from a brazier toward the middle of the hall. “Before I left Braavos, it was well known the Golden Company had gone afoul of the Bank and its council.”

 

“And you never thought to mention this?”Said Ser Gerold swinging to look at the Braavosi.

 

“As the Ser said, I’m not aware of any connection to the crown I serve and The Golden Company, Your Grace.” He said with a bow.

 

“Because there is none,” Daenerys said with a sharp look at Lord Connington. “The official dispatches.” She looked around the court at the curious faces. “Confirm that while the battle happened outside its walls, Meereen itself was never the true target. I can only congratulate the North on its victory.”

 

Davos looked up at her with a small smile on his face, blue eyes twinkling. _Yes, my old friend, I am very pleased with your king._ She tried to convey to him.

 

“Well,” said Ser Davos, looking around. “ if that’s settled, I’d like to continue on with the things we’ve brought for, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys furrowed her brow, while the young Dothraki warrior she had barely been able to forearms stepped forward with a small oak chest in his arms. He sat the chest down near the bottom of the step and then reached for the sword at his hip. There was a ringing in the throne room and gasps from the onlookers while the Queensguard moved to protect their queen. The Dothraki warrior merely looked at them all with annoyance and maneuvered his straight sword so that it sat across his forearms.

 

“Khaleesi, bride ki vorsa, anha am Azzo, rizh ki Qhono, anha wish to serve tih true Khaleesi.” Said the Dothraki.

 

“Azzo, I knew your father well, he was Qoy ki tih qoy, blood of my blood, as are you as his son. I’m afraid I haven’t spoken my people’s tongue in many years. Do you know the common?”

 

“Aye, Your Grace.” Said the young Dothraki. It was the strangest thing to hear the Northern burr come out of his mouth. So strange that Daenerys laughed happily to the amazement of her court.

 

“You sound like a true Northman, Azzo. How is it that you wish to serve me?” she asked.

 

“I was there, though young, when you walked from the flames, Khaleesi. I have learned much from Ver Khal, but I wish to serve my queen as my father did and honor his memory.” Said Azzo. He knelt at the foot of the dais, sword across his arms in supplication to her. Daenerys had such a yearning for the great grass sea at that moment, away from the stuffy keeps and expectant eyes. To feel the roaring wind rip her hair like a flag behind her as she galloped upon her silver mare. Those days were long past now however, she only could expect moments like these.

 

She looked over at Ser Jorah with a raised brow.

 

“I believe Khaleesi,” said Ser Jorah with a bow. “We might have a use for a horselord in the Queensguard.”

 

“Good.” Said Daenerys, eyeing the young Dothraki Azzo, it would be nice to see the true face of her people around the Red Keep. “I welcome you, Azzo, son of Qhono. We have much to talk about.”

 

“Surly,” said Trystane turning toward her. “ even you can see that this is a spy sent from the King in the North!”

 

“I am, Qoy ki tih qoy,” spat Azzo, before Daenerys could answer. “my people crossed the poison water for the Khaleesi, I am no snake.”

 

“I am your King, Savage. You must speak to me as such.” Trystane took a step toward the Dothraki, but the horselord stood firm.

 

“My Khal is strong here,”Azzo slapped his bicep. “sword like whip. My Khal leads the wolf men.” He bared his teeth at Trystane and growled, “But my Khaleesi rides the fire lizards, she is strongest in all the grass sea from the home of the steel men to the mother of mountains. I serve the woman of fire.”

 

“And you are welcome to serve me,” Daenerys said firmly, she watched at Trystane eased back onto the step beside her. How she wished the man would take a tumble down the stone steps and break his silly neck. She looked up at Ser Davos, “Thank you, for bringing Azzo into my service. He is most welcome.” She glanced down, as the Dothraki backed away from the steps, eyeing the oak chest. “I see we have one more gift, good Ser.”

 

“That one,” said Davos nodding to the chest. “Is one best left for your private time, My Queen. It’s less a gift and more the return of something that was yours, to begin with.”

 

Her heart quickened, she took a deep breath, slowly as that no one would notice it. _Maybe he’s given me a piece of Jon, some token that only I would recognize_. She thought though she couldn’t imagine what it could be.

 

“I thank you, Ser Davos.” She said quietly.

 

“You’ve brought…many things as gifts, Ser Davos.” Said Tyrion slowly. “But it’s a rare thing to be given such gifts and not have anything expect in return.”

 

“You’re right, Lord Tyrion, and this isn’t one of those rare occasions.” Said Davos, he looked up Daenerys, chin lifted. “There is an island off the coast of Coldwater called The Paps, nothing but a bit of rock and dirt.”

 

“I know of it.” Said Daenerys, she remembered it had been a bit of contention when they’d drawn up the borders.

 

“It is the wish of Jon Snow, Your Grace.” Said Davos, eyeing her. “That we two nations, might build a trading outpost there. It takes near a week off the time from White Harbor to Braavos and nears the same from King’s Landing to White Harbor. If we were to join together, we could begin trading between all the main ports in both Westeros and Essos through this joint affair and each enjoy the income it generates.”

 

“That sounds promising.” Daenerys mused. She swept her eyes over the men in the room who sat upon her council. _You see_ , she thought, _more than just an arm to wield a sword_. Had she been surrounded by those that were with the King in the North maybe she would have fewer headaches. “And who is going to pay for this joint affair, Ser Davos?”

 

“The North is prepared to begin building the docks and the storehouses, if you, Your Grace would consider building the town. We’ll need a square and a market as well as a few barracks for soldiers to guard against pirates. It will take time, but time can heal many things, Your Grace, and time is on the side of the North and the South if we let it be so.”

 

“Indeed, it is.” Said Daenerys. It was all so clean. There was no arguing, no by your leave, your grace, may I please shit in your tea. Diplomacy as it should be. Simple, direct, and without illusion. It had the mark of Jon Snow all over it. She made to stand, thinking the audience was over for now and wishing nothing but to retire to her rooms with a mysterious oak chest.

 

“If that is all, Ser Davos, I will leave you to Lord Tyrion.” She said quietly, wishing to be away.

 

“There is one more thing, Your Grace.” Said Davos, she noticed how he looked to Tyrion with a nod. “Sometime ago, Princess Sansa received a missive from your Lord Hand, requesting a fostership.”

 

“A fostership?” she said.

 

“Yes, Your Grace,” it was Tyrion who stepped forward and placed a foot at the bottom of the dais. “I’ve heard many good things about the north and it’s treatment of…”He looked across the throne room to a far corner. “treatment of children of a different sort. I thought that it might do the South well, to send a capable child North to learn these ways and adapt them to our own.”

 

 _No_. If she said no, it would weaken her, but she could already see the child coming closer, blonde hair catching the light from the windows above her. _I’ve only just discovered how much I care for her._

 

“It would please the King in the Northern Kingdom, Jon Snow, very much if he could house Lord Tyrion's niece, Dorna Waters.” Announced Ser Davos.

Kin

 


	8. The Lost Generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow's End and King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes out to those commentators that said I needed to update more often. Love you guys.

The Lost Generation

 

Snow’s End:

 

 

 _Forty-three_.

 

He passed an eye over the assembled faces, all wide-eyed and nervous, save for the auburn-haired youth at the fore. Gods, he looked more and more like Robb with every passing day, though the nose was wrong and the blue eyes were all Tully. He hid his smile as Rodric straightened his back further when Jon’s eyes wandered over his face. There was pride in that boy, he’d have to speak to him about it.

 

He continued walking along the ragged line, trying to memorize each face. With there being so few, he would have no excuse not to know each of their names. These forty-three were special.

 

“The last fosterin’,” Jon said quietly, his voice echoing in the nearly empty hall at Snow’s End. “We had nearly three-hundred.” He stopped and made his way back to the dais, though he didn’t walk up the steps. “So many that I had to greet them out in the keep, and even then there was hardly room to walk a path.” He unfastened his cloak and handed it off to his steward that seemed to appear from thin air. “Next year, the fosterin’ will have to be split, between Snow’s End, White Harbor and gods be kind, Winterfell. They’ll be near on two thousand boys and girls. Do you lot know why there are so few of you today?”

 

 He let the question hang in the air and tried not smile to himself. It was always this way at first. These little ones, thirteen years old, nearly on the cusp of adulthood always seemed to believe he’d ask questions he didn’t expect them to answer.

 

“The Long Night, Ser…”The dark haired boy next to Rodric paled. “I mean, Your Grace…Ser.”

 

Jon walked two paces until he was directly in front of the lad. “What’s your name, Boy?”

 

The dark eyes widened up at him, Jon could see the way his pulsed throbbed in his neck. He mumbled out a name.

 

“Say that again, stronger, Lad. So all can hear.”

 

“ _Klebb,_ Your Grace.” Said the boy, so strong that it echoed up to the arched ceiling and made a few of the others twitter behind their hands. Jon silenced them with a look and turned back to Klebb.

 

“You're, Gareth’s son, no? Old Harlan’s your grandfather?” asked Jon, gently.

 

“Aye,” blushed the boy. Jon patted a hand on the boy's shoulder. _Gods he getting old_.

 

“Klebb speaks true. It is the because of the Long Night.” He said the words, but he already knew they were well aware. “You few are the very reason we stand here today. You’re what your father’s and mother’s fought for. So that you could be born, and all those that follow after you.”

 

You’re what I fought for. Jon said to himself. He remembered vividly, the flash of horror as he fought against the dead in the marshy waters, surrounded by fire and icy winds that tore at his face and burned his skin. The realization at that moment there was a babe being born somewhere in the world that would never see dawn if they failed. He swallowed thickly, gaze taking in the expectant faces before him. Here those babes stood.  The thought made him feel so small, so honored and thankful, but small.

 

“You forty-three, are special,” He said. “because you’re the first I’ve had, that might not have ever taken a breath at all. You are the future of the North. Whether it’s in your blood,” he nodded to Rodric, then looked to a fierce looking girl with black eyes and plaited dark hair. “Or Dothraki.” A tall blonde boy in a cloak lined with goat hide. “Freefolk.” Then a boy with short-cropped brown hair, back straight like a sapling under a dark quilted tunic. “ or Northern Unsullied.”

 

Jon glanced over at Yellow Toad standing with his other captains. The Unsullied Master at Arms tried to give him a blank look, but couldn’t keep the sparkle out of his eyes. A father’s pride. He turned back to his fosterlings.

 

“For the next year, you’ll stay here, under my protection. You’ll learn how to fight from the best the north has to offer. You’ll range beyond the wall and learn to survive in the winter snows. You’ll learn your letters and numbers, or at least we’ll try to teach those of you who wish to learn.” A few chuckles rose up from the young ones. “Girls and boys will learn how to run a keep, how to run a household. You’ll go to White Harbor and spend some weeks on a ship running between the North and Braavos.”

 

He smiled when a few excited murmurs erupted over the group. That had been a new addition. Never again would a child of the North live and die within a few miles of the place they were born if he could help it.

 

“At the end of the year, most of you will be sent home.” He said, and a hush settled over the hall. “Those of you who have earned it and wish to continue in my service will head to the Gift to join the Northern forces stationed there. After that, we’ll see.” Jon sighed and continued. “Low born or High, I expect that in these halls, you conduct yourselves with honor. Those that have experience with a sword are expected to tutor those who do not.” He shot a look to Rodric. “Those who know how to read will help those who do not…but above all, I expect you to remember. It is not a _right_ to be here, it is an honor and a service. Not to me as your King, but to yourselves. Use this experience wisely and there is no limit to where you might rise and your people with you.”

 

Jon nodded to his captain’s and the children began filing out of the hall, he watched Rodic and the boy Klebb speaking in hushed whispers to each other as they left the hall. One dark haired, one auburn. A rush of memories about the brother he lost flooded to him. Perhaps Rodric would find the same as he had. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Sam step beside him.

 

“Well,” Sam said lightly. “I think that speech was better than last years.”

 

“It was nearly the same, Sam.” Jon snorted.

 

“I liked it.”

 

Jon looked over at his oldest friend and former brother of the Night’s Watch, still, the same round Sam, though his hair was thinning a bit up top, he thought. “Any news?”

 

“Not from Davos,” said Sam with a frown. “Though he’ll have only just arrived, no news is good news I say, this early at least.”

 

Jon nodded and motioned for Sam to follow him. They walked up the dais, past the winter throne, to the stairs at the back of the hall. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Sam. Little Sam can handle himself.”

 

“Aye, I know.” Said Sam, following Jon up the tower stairs, ending up in front of his solar door, where a fire roared in the hearth and nearly a year’s worth of correspondence sat upon his desk for him to look over. Sansa had don’t a remarkable job while he was away, but she always did.

 

“Davos will look after him, and Edd too. The lad’s got to learn as we did. I think by his age we were fightin’ wildlin’s beyond the wall.”

 

“Well, you were anyway, I think I mostly was just trying not to die.” Said Sam taking a seat across from Jon. “And don’t try and jape me, Jon. I can tell how nervous you are about all this.”

 

Jon leaned forward and placed his elbow’s on the desk, running his hands through his hair. In truth, he was nervous. “I keep second guessin’ myself, should I have gone with them. Would it even matter.”

 

“You’ve responsibilities here Jon,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think Sansa would be pleased with you runnin’ of again so soon. Besides, you’ll have plenty to do soon enough.” He pulled a scroll out of his robe. “Speaking of Sansa, she’s arrived at Moat Cailin, already askin’ after Rodric.”

 

Jon snorted. “I know she isn’t pleased I sent her away, but I don’t need her hoverin’ over the lad, while he starts his fosterin’. It’ll be good for him to have a few weeks away from her.”

 

“Oh, aye.” Said Sam with a smirk.

 

In truth, Jon just couldn’t stand the constant questions right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He stood and strode to the map table near the fire, looking over the pieces, lingering on the dragon at King’s Landing. “She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?”

 

“ _Hate_ might be a strong word, I think.” Said Sam. Jon heard his friend stand and come to his side, both eyeing the map and what was ahead of them. “What I think you should do is take a few days, while you have them to spare, and see to other needs.”

 

Jon glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye, sighing when he saw the frown on his friends face. He knew what Sam was getting at, and he knew he was right.

 

“Where is she?” Jon said quietly.

 

“Last I saw, she and Tilly had cornered some kittens in the South Tower. Nurse is with them.” Said Sam.

 

“Good, thank you, Sam,” Jon said, he strode to the door. Just as he placed his hand on the latch, Sam spoke again.

 

“She’s nearly four now, Jon. She’s goin’ to start asking questions soon.”

 

“Aye,” Jon said, squaring his shoulders and pulling the door open. “why do you think I’m about to start a war for her.”

 

++++

 

 

King’s Landing:

 

 

“What were you _thinking_ , Tyrion?” She seethed at her hand, watching in satisfaction when he flinched.

 

“I petitioned Sansa as a contingency, should you have decided that Dorna should stay away from King’s Landing.” He splayed his hands in appeasement. “After my Aunt Genna died, I no longer had anyone trustworthy to watch over the girl. Outside of within my own reach,” he nodded to her. “and yours, the North was my only other option.”

 

Daenerys sighed and sat heavily in the chair at her desk. “Well, you know what this will look like now if I refuse, don’t you?” She shook her head at him. “It was announced in front of the whole court and petitioned by a man as close as any to Jon Snow. If I refuse the request, it looks as if _I’m_ the one who doesn’t trust the North and its king.”

 

“Perhaps that’s the point?” said Tyrion with a frown. He walked to a side table and poured himself a goblet of wine, he motioned to her in question, but she waived his offer away. He came back to the desk and slowly pulled himself up in the chair opposite her, a thoughtful look hung on his face. “I sent that missive months ago, Your Grace.” He took a sip of wine and leaned back in the chair. “Then, Ser Davos shows up, nearly unannounced, and makes the offer in front of your whole court. When a simple raven would have done the same.”

 

“You think it some type of…”Daenerys frowned, though almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity. “game? That hardly sounds like, Jon.”

 

“ _King_ Jon, Your Grace,” said Tyrion seriously. “Whatever we know about Jon Snow is years old. This is a man who moved an army halfway around the world to crush an old foe. Iron Bank business aside, it’s easy to see why he would do it.”

 

“Revenge.” breathed Daenerys.

 

“Of course, but also in preparation.” Tyrion eyed her over the top of his goblet. “The last time he was fighting a war in Westeros he was stabbed in the back by an enemy he didn’t see coming. He’s now removed one of those pieces from the table.”

 

 

“We were both stabbed in the back.” Daenerys spat heatedly. She shook her head. “I don't believe that Jon would move against me.”

 

“Not _you_ , precisely.” Tyrion tipped the goblet at her and gave her a half grin, “But against his enemies.” He heaved a deep breath and stared into his goblet for a moment. “Aide to Dorne?” Tyrion gave her a smirk. “I’m surprised you didn’t fall off the throne laughing at the idea.”

 

Daenerys tried to hold back the smile. “It is a bit odd.”

 

“I think,” Tyrion said slowly, “It was directed at your, husband.”

 

“Consort,” Daenerys said automatically. She folded her hands in her lap, brow furrowed in thought. “It was to embarrass him. Ser Davos ask for an official visit, did he not?”

 

Tyrion nodded. “The King in the North, through Ser Davos, announced to your entire court that the King can’t feed his own people, Your Grace.”

 

“You think he’s seeding doubt,” she swallowed, “In the crown?”

 

Tyrion nodded.

 

“To what end?”

 

“I think, Your Grace,” He stood from his seat and placed the empty goblet on her desk. He nodded toward her vanity. “the answer could be in that chest.” He turned to leave. “Now, I’m going to go see if my niece has stopped crying yet. The wine has fortified me against the screaming.”

 

Tyrion left in silence, her eyes tracking his path out of her chambers. She looked at her hands, folded in her lap, twisting her mother’s ring in thought. Could it really be some type of ruse on the part of the North? And why? She turned her head and looked at the oak chest, sitting at the side of her vanity. Her heart began to race. She tried to tell herself whatever was in that box wouldn’t change anything, it couldn’t.

 

She rose and padded over to the vanity, alternating between eyeing the box like something dangerous and running her fingers lightly over the smooth surface of the lid. Slowly she reached for the brass fastening to release it but stopped. Daenerys looked up in the mirror, passed her own shoulder, at the wardrobe behind her. She needed protection for the present, so she looked to the past to find it.

 

The maiden cloak draped over her shoulders, she adjusted it in the mirror until the two sigils were even across her chest and then sat before the mirror, lifting the small chest into her lap. She released the latch and lifted the lip.

 

Rabbit furs? She frowned at the grey and white hides, but as her eyes took the rest of it in, she saw the small rolled scroll in the center of them, black wax embossed with a snarling direwolf. Daenerys lifted the scroll out of the box, staring at it, breath coming quicker than she could remember in some time. She looked down at the furs again and resisted the urge to dig her hands into the center of them, perhaps she should read what he had to say first. Heart pounding, she broke the wax seal and brushed her eyes over the words written in a careful hand, precise, as if he’d written it very slowly.

 

_Queen,_

_The wisest woman I’ve ever known once told me, that you can only help people from a position of strength, and sometimes strength is terrible._

_I need you to remember Dany, it was you who said that. You need to remember who you are. Daenerys Stormborn, Khaleesi of the great grass sea, the mother of dragons, the unburnt, the breaker of chains. Not the end of a great dynasty, but the culmination._

_Your strength is in the North and it’s time to come and claim it._

_If you disagree, I only ask that you allow my people to leave in peace._

_If you agree, trust the Dothraki with your life, as I do._

_Either way, winter is_ coming _Dany, and the snow comes with it._

_Your King,_

_The Sea_

_P.S. You’ve never needed one for all the world to see you’re a queen, but it belongs_ with _you all the same._

 

The postscript was all but a blur until she used a trembling hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. _The Sea_. Dany choked a teary laugh, _he remembered_. She read the note again, it was at once a prayer from the man, an invitation, and a warning, perhaps even a threat. Yet, those two words. The Sea. Brought such a well of memories to her mind that she couldn’t think on the other details.

 

She reluctantly placed the note on the vanity in front of her, eyeing it hungrily _. You can read it again in a moment_. Dany told herself. Carefully, she pulled back the rabbit furs, slowly as if afraid, but using all her will to not snatch at them hastily. If they revealed nothing but another note from Jon, she would be the happiest woman in the southern kingdom. There was no note though…she frowned. There was a pouch. Black velvet, mottled with age, so old that dust hung to it even though it looked like it had been brushed clean recently. She lifted it out of the box and shut the lid, placing the pouch on top and eyeing the drawstring in front of her. 

 

She pulled the drawstring apart and the candlelight caught a flash of silver. When she slipped her hand inside. Her fingers brushed cold metal and when she pulled it out, her breath caught, heart, drumming in her chest.

 

A red ruby half the size of her fist was clutched the mouths of twin dragons, their wings folded against the tapered sides of the circlet.

 

“Mother.” Dany sobbed and pulled the crown to her chest.


	9. Fire And Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The players are moving into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I could have stretched this chapter out forever, but it's essentially set up for the next chapter. There are multiple points of view as everyone takes there positions. We meet an unusual new character and Dany has a short conversation with her consort.

It didn’t burn. How long had it been since she’d tested the flames with a lazy hand, fingers trying to catch the orange bursts between them? She was still unburnt. Daenerys leaned back in her seat, watching the flames in the hearth and trying to fan the ones smoldering in her mind. She mindlessly fingered the note in the pocket of her dress. If someone had asked her to, she could recite it word for word, having read it a hundred times in the previous four days. Only in her quiet moments, when no one could see her. If they could have opened up her mind, snow and storm would have tumbled out and it was getting harder for her to rationalize why she couldn’t do the one thing she wished to do most. The chest and crown were locked away in her wardrobe with her maiden cloak, the key safely kept in the pocket with Jon’s note.

 

The knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts.

 

“Come in,” she called. Jorah stepped inside and swiftly shut the door behind him.

 

“Your Grace,” he bowed to her. “I believe you sent for me.”

 

“No need for the formality, come and sit with me, I have need of my old bear.” She said, motioning to the chair opposite her. Jorah chuckled lightly and unbuckled the sword at his hip, leaning it against the hearthstones.

 

“This bear is getting older every day, Your Grace,” Jorah said, gingerly taking a seat. Daenerys knew his knees often bothered him, so many hours he’d spent standing at a door or drilling the men in the yards. So much sacrifice, from the moment she’d met him at her wedding to Drogo, through wars and exile; sickness and yes, even heartbreak. Jorah had been faithful.

 

“Am I still your Queen, Jorah?” She said, eyeing him.

 

His brow knit strongly as he frowned. “Of course, Your Grace. Have I…” the frown deepened further. “Offended you in some way?”

 

“No, Jorah.” She held a hand up stopping him. “I believe I stated that wrong.” Daenerys twisted her hands in her lap for a moment. “Who is your King?”

 

Jorah lowered his eyes from hers and with a deep ragged breath spoke. “I’ve spent more than half my life away from home, Your Grace.” He looked up at her. “But I’m still a man of the North.”

 

Daenerys nodded and looked away into the flames. “ Your king threatens war, Jorah.” She pulled the note from her dress and held it up, though she did not offer it to him.

 

“Aye, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys looked over at him with narrowed eyes and then burst into a harsh laugh. “You do have a history of doing things without me knowing dont' you. Should I exile you again, Ser?”

 

“I suppose if you do, I’ll see Bear Island again before I die.” Said Jorah with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps we should exile ourselves.”

 

Daenerys snorted. “That simple, Jorah? It would mean war, the kingdoms would be in chaos.” She shook her head, thousands would die from the lowest to the highest. It all would be for naught.

 

“There was always going to be war anyway, Your Grace.” Jorah leaned forward, he gently placed his hand over hers. “This was never a remedy, you only staved off the bleeding for a time. You knew that. You’re…” he squeezed her hand gently. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’ve kept that chair through sheer will and wit, Your Grace.” He withdrew his hand slowly, but stayed forward in his seat, eyes boring into hers. “It is _time_ , Khalessi.”

 

“But what is there for me in the North?” she wondered out loud. _Strength_ , Jon had said. Her king who was married to another. Is that what he was offering? To be an ornament for the North and his court, to be the subject of pitying looks. She had enough of that in the Red Keep as it were.

 

“Ask the Dothraki.” Said Jorah.

 

 _Trust the Dothraki with your life, as do I_. Daenerys nodded to herself and heaved a sigh, the least she could do was hear what the man had to say. “Fetch him, Jorah, I shall speak to him.”

 

“He’s outside, Your Grace,” Jorah said with a smirk. He stood swiftly and walked towards the door, buckling his sword as he went.

 

“Was it so obvious what I would decide, Ser Jorah?” Daenerys said, honestly offended.

 

“No, Your Grace, but I thought it best to keep him close,” Jorah said before he swung the chamber door open and Azzo slipped into the shadows along the far wall. He and Jorah shared a few quiet words before the Old Bear left them alone. Daenerys stood and motioned for him to come closer.

 

“Welcome, Azzo.” She said

 

“Khaleesi.” The young Dothraki said with a slight bow and a glower on his face.

 

Daenerys lifted her chin, trying to suppress the churning of her stomach. “I’ve received the message from Your King. He says I should trust you with my life, why?”

 

“Hajinaan kisha’re rhojosor.” said Azzo solemnly, then he knelt before her and bowed his head.

 

 _Because we’re family_. Daenerys gasp and took a startled step back

 

Azzo seemed to melt away as the face was shed and only a woman knelt before her with bright grey eyes and an insufferable cocksure smile.

 

“Hello, Dany.”

 

 

+++

 

“You lot will be here,” said Davos, pointing to a narrow alley on the map marked _Shadowblack lane_ and looking up at the small group of Mermen surrounding him. “I want you to look like proper beggars, not a stitch of finery on you.”

 

The men nodded. “We’ve got some rags we picked up.” Said one of them “, enough for a half dozen of us.”

 

“Good,” said Davos going back to the map. “If it gets to a fight, I’ll need you lot to be ready when Sam and Gaeric come tearin’ down that alley with the girl.”

 

The black direwolf perked up at his name and Sam gave him a rueful smile across the galley.

 

“What about the River gate, they’ll have it closed by the time they reach it.” Said Edd leaning over the map.

 

“They’ve got two donkeys lashed to the wench in the gatehouse.” Piped Sam. “I’ve made friends.”

 

A couple Mermen chuckled.

 

“Gaeric,” said Davos looking at the direwolf sitting on his hunches next to Edd. “when the sun dips we’re going to load you in a cart and you’ll go with the men to Shadowblack lane, but you’ll have to make it up to the postern from there yourself, don’t get distracted watching the whores,” the old smuggler said with a knowing look. “ there’s a narrow path up the western side of the dry moat, you’ll see a bramble and behind it is a small metal gate. Ser Jorah will meet you there and let you into the keep.”

 

The direwolf cocked an ear and whined in answer.

 

“Now pay attention, this here is the tower of the hand.” Said Davos, pointing to a small square tower just inside the inner keep. "Ser Jorah has Queensguard manning the gate, he’ll get you that far, but he has his own duties after that. Sam here, “Davos said, “will meet you outside the tower, you’re to guard him while he gets the girl out of the keep.”

 

Sam watched the yellow wolf eyes dart over the map and trace the path he would take, with a growl the direwolf leaned back on his haunches and looked contented.

 

“Now Sam, I want you and Gaeric to try and not make a mess if you can help it.” Said Davos giving them both a look through narrowed eyes. He was given a growl from the wolf and a snort from Sam. “ I mean it, these Kingsguard are there for a reason. If they catch wind the queen isn’t where she’s supposed to be and the alarm gets raised we’re going to be in a right fookin’ mess. We can’t fight the whole gods damn city watch.”

 

“Aye, alright, Davos.” Said Sam.

 

“We’re going to have the longboat and the skiff tethered along the side of the ship. We’ll just have to hope Ned is in position to take care of the chain, he and the others will take the wench house tonight after the last watch change.”

 

“What if the Queen doesn’t want to come?” said Edd with a frown.

 

Davos sighed and leaned over the table, grey eyes hardening. “We’ll have to leave that up to Arya.”

 

 

++++

 

“Darkstar left this morning.” Tyrion murmured next to her, while they walked to the throne room.

 

“What?” Daenerys slowed her steps. “Why?”

 

“I’m not sure, something about business in the south.” Tyrion shrugged, but she could see he was worried.

 

“How many men did he take with him?” said Daenerys in thought, she stole a glance at her shadow, Azzo, his black eyes unreadable.

 

“Very few, Your Grace.” Her hand said he paused just before they entered the throne room, darting a look around himself. “Is there something I need to know?”

 

She should have imagined that Tyrion would have an inkling that something was afoot, her whole body practically buzzed with it.

 

“I was hoping to speak later, Tyrion.” She leaned down closer to him. “How quietly can you leave for the Westerlands?”

 

++++

 

Dorna looked up from her book when her uncle pushed into the room, she watched him pause for a moment taking her in. She went back to pretending to read. She was so infuriated with him. How could he, honestly, want to send her away? To a place, she didn’t know, to people she’d only ever heard a few stories about. The queen had promised to protect her, and now…even Her Grace couldn’t stop it. Dorna tried to ignore him, but then she saw a taller figure had arrived with him out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Dorna,” Uncle Tyrion said, she saw he had tears in his eyes and for a moment she felt bad how she had yelled at him…and then not spoken to him since. She lifted her chin as if it didn’t matter if he cried and she would cry as well. “This is Samwell Tarly.”

 

Dorna eyed the boy, she remembered him from the throne room the other day. If this is what all Northman looked like she wasn’t impressed. He was on the short side and he had freckles all over his face. His eyes _were_ kind though. She shook her head, no she wouldn’t even pretend to like him. “What of it, Uncle?”

 

Her uncle came to stand by her chair, grabbing her hands in his. It was true, even sitting she had a little height on him, but where many only saw a short man Dorna knew the clever wit he possessed, he was the smartest man she knew. If she was honest with herself, she trusted him to make the right decisions for her, even if she disagreed with them.

 

“Do you trust the queen, my sweetling?” Uncle said, one green eye, one blue flickering in between her own.

 

“Yes,” she said quietly, nodding.

 

“The queen trusts Lord Samwell,” he nodded to the boy, who looked at the floor in embarrassment she suspected. “I trust him as well.” He squeezed her hands and brought them briefly to his lips. “I must leave the capital and head for Casterly Rock. Lord Samwell is going to protect you while you’re away from me, he and the queen. I need you to listen and do as he says, please, child.” He took a small hand and cupped her cheek. “You do not know what it was like before you were born, it was dangerous. Times are about to become dangerous again, so I’m sending you to the safest place I know.”

 

Dorna nodded and fought back the tightness forming in her throat. “Can I not go with you?”

 

“No,” Tyrion shook his head, “it is better this way.”

 

Uncle Tyrion hugged her briefly and then stepped away, he looked as if he wanted to say something else, but only shook his head and turned. She watched a look pass between him and the boy, Samwell, who nodded when Uncle grabbed his forearm and squeezed. Then her sweet uncle was gone and she was left alone with this strange boy she did not know, with tears gathering in her eyes.

 

“Do you like animals?” The boy said quietly, his voice was soft and pleasant, but she resisted the urge to scream at him all the same. He closed his eyes briefly and whistled low under his breathe. There was a flutter of wings through the open window and a little finch came and landed on his shoulder.

 

Dorna gaped at him, tears suddenly were forgotten. “How did you do that?”

 

“I have a talent for birds.” Samwell murmured. He pulled a piece of hard bread from his long cloak and fed a few crumbs to his little friend. He looked up at her, giving her a wide shy grin. “Would you like to feed him?”

 

Dorna nodded with a shuddering breath and rose from her chair.

 

++++

 

The light was fading over the bay, it would be gone in only a few minutes and then the night's work could begin. Trystane watched, rolling the goblet in between sweaty palms. This was it, in a few hours he would name himself Regent, the faith be damned. Ser Gerold had left south for Dorne to gather his banners. He would be marching on Old Town within weeks, the faith would be crushed, the Reach would submit. Then they could move on the Westerlands. There was no more time to waste.

 

“Do you know what to do, Ser Daemon?” Trystane said quietly to the knight beside him. Ser Daemon Sand was one of the best swords the realm, in truth, he was perhaps the only man in the Kingsguard that truly deserved the title. He was also in love with the princess, his sister. That made it easy to motivate him. “Once I have the throne under control, I’ll give you the name you wish. I’ll give you a dozen if that is what you like. Just make sure we get the queen and the Lannister girl to the maiden vault before you move on the Queensguard, we wouldn’t want any accidents."

 

“I know my duty, Your Grace.” Said Ser Daemon. Trystane could see the doubt in his eyes, but his allegiance was to Dorne and his sister’s magical cunt. Trystane fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Arianne no doubt had more than one paramour at the moment. She hadn’t had much use for the bastard knight since she was but a girl.

 

“Good.”Trystane dismissed him with a nod and went to refill his wine. The sunlight was all but gone now, he could see a ship off in the distance warping into the black water. _Soon_ , he thought, _I will have accomplished what even my father could not._

 

There was a soft knock at the door.

 

“Come,” he called. He heard the door swing open, and a shuffling of feet. Trystane turned and saw a wide-eyed Ser Swann standing in the doorway.

 

“What is it, Swann?” He said, eyeing the stiff guard, arms limp at his side. Then he noticed the flow of blood running down his breastplate, like a river after a summer storm from beneath his helm, the knight gave a choking gasp and fell face first onto his chamber floor. A shadow passed through the doorway and the queen’s new savage guard stepped through. Trystane eyed the sword across the room by his bed, the savage stepped closer.

 

In a flurry of movement, Trystane leaped toward his bed… but the savage moved impossibly fast. The same instant his fingertips brushed against the golden hilt his eyesight burst into a bright burst of light, pain enveloping the right side of his head. He rolled onto his back from the blow, head swimming while he felt rough hands grab him and push him into a chair. His head lolled uselessly for what seemed a mere second, but when his eyesight righted, two figures stood before him.

 

“Daenerys?” He said in his head, but he couldn’t move his lips, some sort of gag had been pushed nearly into his throat. Panic started to grip him and he tried to thrash against his bindings.

 

The Dothraki stepped forward and with strong hands ripped the front of his tunic baring his heaving chest. Stepping back the savage pulled a dagger from the inside of his vest and silently handed it to the Dragon Queen. There was a look on her face he couldn’t remember seeing before. Chin lifted, nostrils flared, he’d seen that plenty of times in her moments of anger. But not the smile that tugged at her lips, _never_ a smile.

 

“You must think I’m going to kill you, Martell.” She said in a deadly whisper, “You are going to die, but not yet, not like this. You’re going to see it coming from a long way off, not suddenly, but slowly. As if the night is coming to claim you.”

 

Trystane watched as she reached down and slowly lifted her skirt up, then straddle him in the chair, one leg at a time. In another life, it might have sent a thrill of desire through him, but there was nothing but rage written on her beautiful face and hate in her purple eyes as the scent of lavender from her skin washed over him. He tried to shy away when she lightly brushed the edge of the blade down his cheek, but she grabbed his hair roughly with a hand and held his gaze to hers.

 

“I’m not going to kill you.” She whispered the blade trailed down his neck, coming to a stop just above his chest. “But you will remember that I’ll see you again soon.”

 

With that promise, the beautiful Targaryen queen with a heart of ice started to carve into his chest, ignoring the screams that tore from him against the gag in his throat.


	10. The North Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North's plans burst into life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff starts to get blown up.

It took two of them, Jorah and an Unsullied, working with iron bars to pry the postern door open. As it inched apart, a pair of yellow eyes met his gaze nearly at eye level. Then a large black head pushed its way into the narrow opening, the door creaking wildly as the direwolf squeezed into the keep.

 

“You’re Gaeric?” Jorah said quietly.

 

The wolf snuffled at him in answer and pulled himself back into the shadow along the wall away from the corridor that entered the outer yard.

 

“Alright, keep to the shadows, I’ll walk along with you as far as the inner gate, the unsullied won’t bother you there, but you’ll have to make your way to the tower of the hand yourself.” Said Jorah. “If you see any men in red cloaks, try to make sure they don’t see you. You understand.”

 

The wolf gave him what seemed to be a disapproving blink and Jorah suddenly realized he’d been talking to an animal like a man. _He is a man though_ , he thought. _Well, mostly_. With a nod, Jorah eased out into the outer keep, keeping one eye on the gate to the Dragon’s Way and Kings Landing beyond, the other eye on the throne hall across the keep. He saw a dark shadow near the oak doors that led to the Iron Throne, with a breath of movement, the shadow slipped inside. Edd was already at work. They didn’t have much time.

 

Jorah straightened himself and marched across the keep, the unsullied at his side and the shadow of the wolf nearly invisible against the wall of the Inner Keep. He chanced a glance at the Kingsguard stationed at the outer gatehouse. He saw a couple lazily chatting in the nearly moonless night, their forms a mere outline against the portcullis of the gate and the city glow beyond. He knew there should be four of them tonight, most likely the other two were either sleeping or drinking in the gatehouse.

 

They reached the inner gate, the two unsullied said nary a word or spared a look when the giant wolf stalked in between them and loped off to the left of the inner yard. He nodded to one of the unsullied. “Go and get the horses from the stable, have them ready here, put them inside of the gatehouse if you have to, but keep them out of sight.” The unsullied nodded and stalked off, Jorah turned to the Gatehouse and entered. He was met with forty expectant faces, all the unsullied to be spared in the Keep.

 

“Alright, Lads,” he said quietly. “It’s time we got our queen out of this fucking city.”

 

There was a growl of approval in answer.

 

++++

 

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Hissed Dorna when Lord Samwell pulled the laces tighter, leather squeezing her chest. She took two deep breaths, trying to test her lungs in the leather armor.

 

“Aye, My Lady.” Said Lord Samwell, she saw his brow furrowed in the looking glass while his fingers deftly finished the lacing with a tight knot near the nape of her neck. She let her hair fall down her back when she saw him step away. “Just want to make sure you’re safe from things I can’t protect you from.” He walked to her wardrobe and began rummaging through it.

 

“I’m not a lady,” Dorna said quietly, watching him. He pulled a long dark cloak out of her things and held it up, eyeing it.

 

“You look like a lady,” said Sam without a glance at her. “Sound like one too. Reminds me of the Princess.”

 

“Princess?” said Dorna as Sam stepped to her and circled the cloak around her shoulders.

 

“Oh, Aye, Princess Sansa has pretty ways like you.” Said Sam, double tying the cloak in a bow at her throat. He stepped back, looking at her, then with a smile he nodded.

 

“Oh, Uncle has talked of her, I believe on occasion…” she smirked. “he’ll get very drunk and mention thing’s about his most capable wife.”

 

“Don’t know much about that, My Lady.” Said Sam, he walked to the window and help the little bird Jitters fly out the window. He turned and with a steadying breath and a raised eyebrow said, “are you ready to go?”

 

“I…”she hesitated, she wasn’t even quite sure what was going on, only that she had to leave the Red Keep tonight and this boy, who her uncle and the queen trusted, was to take her. “I think so.”

 

Sam nodded and a soft look crossed his face. “I've got a sister, though she’s younger than you, My Lady. I promise to protect you the same as I would her. You’ll be alright. We’re just going to walk out into the keep, they’ll be some horses waiting for us and a friend of mine.” He hesitated. “I don’t want you to be alarmed by my friend Gaeric, he looks different than us.”

 

“Ok,” Dorna nodded.

 

Sam slung the bag with her few possessions she was taking with them over his shoulder, then grabbed her hand and headed for the door. As he was about to open it, he stopped and put his ear to the door, frowning at her. He put a finger to his lips and slowly pulled the door open a crack. Dorna couldn’t see what he saw, but it made him say some very bad words under his breath, he pushed the door closed slowly.

 

“There’s some Kingsgurad out in the corridor talking to Red Bear, near the stairs, four of them. It that strange?” asked Sam.

 

“Yes, the Kingsguard don’t usually come here, my Uncle only has service with the Unsullied.” Said Dorna.

 

“Fuck.” Hissed Samwell under his breath and Dorna would have giggled if she didn’t have a slow drip of fear filling her up. He looked up at her with a strange sideways grimace. “I need to get my friend, I’m going to do something that will seem a bit odd.” he lifted his brow as if trying to make her understand. “Okay?”

 

Dorna nodded silently at him, then shrank back when his eyes turned a milky white. She stifled a gasp with her hand.

 

“Gaeric?” said Sam under his breath. “Well, I know, I don’t like being in here with you either….Aye…yes…I know.” Sam shook his head. “I’m in here because I’ve got four fucking Kingsguard up here and they shouldn’t be.” Sam was silent for a beat. “I don’t care if it’s locked, break it down, you’re as big as a fuckin” horse. Just get up here, it’s the stairs to the right as you come through the door…alright, yeah, I’ll distract them.” Sam blinked and suddenly his eyes were back to being a light blue.”

 

Dorna blinked rapidly at him, trying to make sense of it. Sam gave her a sheepish smile and bowed his head.

 

“I promise, I’ll explain later,” he said then straightened. “I’m going to go out and see what they want, I want you to stay in here with the door locked.” Sam gave her a meaningful look, then widened the door and slipped out. Dorna slid the lock shut, breath coming quicker. She could hear Sam’s calm voice rolling through the door, then a sharper voice, one of the guards maybe. The voices started to rise in intensity. Trembling, she placed an ear to the door and listened.

 

_“We’re to take the Lannister girl to the maiden vault, per the instructions of the queen. I don’t know who you are boy, but you’ll not get in the way of us. Don’t give a shit what her uncle told her.”_

 

 _“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Ser…”_ She heard Sam say calmly. There were several beats of silence. Curious, she slid the lock back and pulled the door open a sliver. Sam had his back to her, Red Bear at his side, four Kingsguard across the corridor in front of them. It looked as if they were all just standing there staring at each over, but then a Kingsguard in the middle slowly sank to his knees clutching at something sticking out of his throat.

 

“Does that clarify the situation for you?” Sam said, his voice a deadly murmur in the silent hall. Silent until the sound of metal stretching and wood splintering echoed up the stairs behind the Kingsguard. In a flash, all five men were on each other. Red bear holding two at bay with his spear, while Samwell parried quick blows from the man in front of him.

 

Dorna watched transfixed as the quiet boy with his short sword flashing and cloak whirling pushed away the Kingsguards strike with his sword and with his offhand bury a dagger deep in the man’s thigh just above his knee, the cap giving way with an audible snap and sent the Kingsguard to one knee with a piercing scream; cut short with the Northern lord’s blade opened his neck on the next pass. The guard fell to the ground at Samwell’s feet.

 

The two remaining took a step back, eyeing the Unsullied guard's spear and this boy who’d fell their comrade in only a few passes.

 

“You Kingsguard don’t seem to be what the legends say, do you?” She heard Sam say sadly, shaking his head. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time, I’ll be sure to tell of your deaths.”

 

One of the guards switched his stance to confront Sam, but as he moved there was a low guttural growl that filled the corridor and then death came stalking up the stairs, yellow eyes blazing in the torchlight.

 

Dorna screamed and fell away from the door. _By all the gods what was that?_ The sound of men dying came through the door, horribly surprised cries that were gone in seconds amidst the snarling of an animal and tearing of soft flesh. Then Sam was kneeling in front of her, worry and blood splashed across his face.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. “You were supposed to lock the door.”

 

“I’m not a little girl,” Dorna said defiantly but the tears in her eyes said different, she knew.

 

“I know,” said Sam, he helped her up and gathered the bag he’d left with her. “Come on.” He took her elbow and navigated her to the door. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.” He said near her ear. But it was too late, the corridor was bathed blood and orange firelight. An arm lay limp against the wall across from her, sword still clutched in its hand. The arm’s owner was on his side where he’d fallen, neck and head nearly pulled off his shoulders and blood still pumped from the wound. Further down the hall were two more mounds, what would have been one man was torn in two on opposite sides of the corridor, it looked as if that one had tried to run away.

 

She burst into tears.

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sam said smoothly, guiding her toward the stair where Red Bear waited, she looked up and her familiar Unsullied had a rare smile on his face. It unnerved her. _What in all the hells was going on?_

 

There was a sound behind her, padded feet against the hard stone floor and hot blows of breath blew against the back of her head. She didn’t look back, didn’t want to.

 

“It’s ok,” Said Sam rubbing her back slowly, “It’s just Gaeric.” He stopped her, “Here would you like to meet him?” Sam turned her slowly, her eyes wanted to slam shut when she saw the beast with its bloody maw inches from her face, but the eyes held her gaze. Something like understanding behind them made her straighten her back. The wolf whined and glanced over at Sam, then bent his head, as wide as her whole body and did an unmistakable bow. Despite her fear, Dorna couldn’t help but giggle.

 

“This here is Dorna, Gaeric, she’s part of our pack now, you understand?” said Sam next to her.

 

The wolf let out a low growl and soft bark in the back of his throat then reached over and licked the side her face, it’s breath hot and coppery with the scent of blood. She tried not to flinch, but did anyway.

 

“Gaeric, don’t be takin’ liberties. I know better, you may look like a pup, but I remember the man you were before.” Said Sam frowning at the beast.

 

 _Man, you were before_? Thought Dorna, but then she realized it was just another one of the many things Samwell would have to explain later. She let Sam take her elbow and guide her to the stairs and down the steps, the giant wolf following behind them.

 

++++

 

 

The sound of the direwolf crashing through the door echoed across the inner keep and made Jorah flinch. _Fucking hells_. They were out of time. He nodded his head to a half dozen Unsullied and they doubled stepped through the gate behind him to secure the outer from the Kingsguard, blood was about to be spilled and there was no way to stop it. There was a call from across the yard and then the armory door opened and the Kingsguard began running out. Why they were all armored already was beside the point. He had his men ready anyway. The unsullied tightened their shield wall, lowered their spears and began marching across the keep to the assembling red cloaks.

 

“Hold the line.” He shouted and the Unsullied tightened their wall further. Confusion across the yard reigned amongst the red cloaks for a beat too long before the spears were on them. Two cultures clashed in a storm of steel and the melee fighting style of the Kingsguard was unprepared for the discipline of the unsullied. Sword and shield couldn’t stand against the length of spear wielded by the eunuchs. Jorah had often noted while watching them drill in the yard, how little time the red cloaks spent with a spear or pike in their hands, focusing more on one on one combat with sword. Trying harder to be Barristan the Bold and not focusing on what their job was, _killing_. They had never prepared for the shield wall the unsullied offered and within a few steps, the red cloaks were pushed in between the outer wall of the armory and barracks, a veritable killing field. A dozen falling within the first few moments, many cowering towards the back while the spears advanced.

 

“Ser Jorah!” He spun and Edd was running towards him. The little man grabbed his cloak. “We’ve to go, _now_!”

 

Jorah nodded, then looking up, he saw the figures coming from the Tower of the Hand, one small and slight beneath her black cloak. “Fall back to the gate!” he cried. “Protect the queen!”

 

The Unsullied line slowly backed away from the Kingsguard trapped against the wall, the red cloaks still standing not following immediately which bought him time. He turned and hurried with Edd back in the gate of the inner keep. He saw the figures mounting two palfreys.

 

There was a whistling in the air and then his hip exploded in pain. Jorah fell onto the stones with a cry, he felt the bolt snap as he rolled and dig further into his flesh. Hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Edd ran back for him and swore as he hefted his arm over his shoulder and half drug him towards the gatehouse.

 

“Curse, Jon Snow.” He heard the former Night’s Watchman mutter under his breath.

 

++++

 

The palfrey shied away as he threw a leg over its back, the clash of steel and cries, along with the direwolf close at hand, caused the flighty mount to only nervously allow him to find his seat. He looked over and Dorna was nearly thrown as her mount half reared in the loud din of the keep. Sam maneuvered his mount to her side and pushed her into the saddle. She clutched at the reins, eyes finding his, wide and frightened. He felt bad for a moment and then remembered his mission.

 

“Protect the queen!” He called to no one. Dorna frowned at him, bright green eyes narrowed, he merely shook his head at her. He spun his mount and grabbed and the reins of hers near the bit, directing his mount with his knees and hers with his hands. “Come on,” he cried to her. “Follow me.”

 

Sam kicked at his mount and pulled Dorna’s along with him, they leaped through the inner gate and took the outer yard at a swift gallop. The portcullis was raised across the keep as they neared it and Sam let out a shaky breath. When they passed under the gate an unsullied pressed a fist to his chest in salute and Sam could only nod back. He pulled sharply at the reins of his mount, Dorna’s following the cue of her lead mate and swerved left, leaped down the embankment of the dry moat and up the other side, over a low wall and bursting onto Shadowblack lane, hooves thundering on the cobblestones.

 

The low houses flashed by, a shadow pulled up beside them and then ahead, Gaeric sprinting up the alley in front of them. As people darted their heads out of doors they quickly darted back.

 

“Out of the way!” Sam cried strongly into the dark alley. “In the name of the queen!” He chanced a look back and saw Dorna slung low over her mount's neck, the hood of her cloak had fallen away and her golden hair flew like a flag behind her. _Good_ , he thought.

 

Gaeric bounded ahead and met a cart pulled into the middle of the alley, shadows working furiously to right it in the proper direction. The wolf jumped up into the back of the cart and the figures in rags pulled the canvas folds to cover him. “Mermen to me!” shouted Sam, “We make for the gate.”

 

He swung his mount around the cart and kicking his heels into its flank, headed for fishmonger square and the River Gate beyond. Sam loosened the reins between his fingers and let his horse take the lead, trusting in the animal to keep to the right direction. He reached out, finding the new tether attached to the gate far beyond his mind. A slow minded resistance met him and then with a subtle push his eyes rolled and he was staring at a mound of straw on a stone floor. Sam felt the harness around his chest, the parched mouth that wanted to sip at the bucket close at hand, but Sam pushed the donkey on, round the wench, his workmate following his lead. Shouts echoed through alien ears and when an unfamiliar face appeared near his harness. He let out a braying shout and struck the man down with a sharp hoof. The wench continued to turn and the shouts rose above him.

 

Sam came back to himself, just as they were entering Fishmonger square, it was still early enough that some merchants were packing up for the night, but the day crowd had thinned, useful to their ruse. “Make way!” he shouted. “In the name of the queen!”

 

People flung themselves out of the way as their party raced across the square, the sound of hooves cracking against stone and the creak of the cart behind them breaking the silence of the night. Sam swerved left towards the gate and his new friends nestled in the gatehouse had nearly managed it, as he gained the low exit a city watchmen stepped out into his path and Sam pulled his sword and clipped the man on the chin with an underhanded swing, sending the man falling into the shadows in a shower of blood.

 

“Protect the Queen!” he shouted when they rumbled onto the quay, making for their ship at a lope, his mount finally tiring beneath him until they shuddered to a stop before the wood plank against the narrow dock. Sam swung from his saddle and slap the rump of the palfrey sending him away down the narrow wharf. He met Dorna’s horse and pulled her from the saddle, he felt her body trembling in her arms. “Just a moment longer, My Lady.” He said calmly and the girl looked up at him with wide eyes. The poor thing obviously had no idea what was happening.

 

Behind them, the cart skidded to a stop and the Mermen jumped out on either side, Gaeric slid from his canvas covering and made for the gangway and the deck of the ship. Sam looked up and saw figures rushing toward them, city watch following their path no doubt.

 

“On to the ship, below decks, go go,” Sam shouted and slapped the back of each man as they passed him. After the last, he took the gangway in three strides and with a mightly heave pushed the plank of heavy wood into the water of the Blackwater Rush. Booted feet sounded on the dock as he shot across the deck and took the stairs below deck in nearly one leap. On the second level, he found the hole cut in the side of the ship and Dorna standing shocked before it.

 

“It’s ok.” He said quietly next to her ear, looking down into the skiff below, Gaeric had already leaped into the water and was swimming for the bay with strong strokes, the merman lowered into the long boat and were already pulling away from the ship. “We planned for this.” Sam grabbed her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze, the girl looked up at him and for a moment, he saw the steel behind the green eyes. Smiling at each other, they leapt into the cold water below.

 

They were only a few strokes away from the skiff when Sam pulled them up to the surface with a hard-won breath, Dorna clutched to his waist. He grabbed the side of the boat and help the girl climb up into it, she in return help pull him until they were both swaying in the water looking back at the ship, slowly drifting away in the current. He grabbed the oars and began rowing away from the ship, watching the deck, waiting.

 

Shouts rang out along the quay, more city watchmen joining their brothers. He continued to row, even when he saw the first shadows emerge onto the deck of their ship. Dorna shivered in the stern of the boat, watching him and then swinging her head and watching the ship slowly shrink into the night behind them.

 

“Dorna,” Sam said, catching her eye, the girl looked at him. “I want you to lay down, low as you can and cover yourself.” She nodded and laid down, pulling her cloak around her. Sam continued to row, counting the strokes as he went, one, two, three, four. The ship continued to shrink and the shadows on its deck grew dimmer against the light of the quay.

 

Pausing for a moment, Sam split his mind and then gripped the oars and stoked again with his hands, but his mind was far away across the water, finding his little friend in the ship. He rubbed a small clawed paw against his whiskers and then shot across the galley floor and down into the hold. He squeezed under a low door and slithered in between the sacks lining the hold of the ship, following the low light, until the candle was in front of him and the grains of rice rolled around his feet, making his way difficult. His ears twitched at the shouts above him and the loud punch of booted feet against wood.

 

“I’m sorry, my little friend,” Sam said quietly when the little nose pushed the candle over onto the mound of rice.

 

There was a flash and Sam came back to himself. The quay lit bright green for a moment and then the boat bucked underneath him. Sam continued to stoke with the oars, ignoring Dorna’s whimpers in the bottom of the boat while the plume of green flame rose over the Blackwater Rush and the water popped with splinters all around them.

 

++++

 

 

She looked at the flowing water, the smell rising up to her nose and curling the little hairs within. Daenerys looked over at the face of the young Dothraki.

 

“You can’t be serious.” She said.

 

“It’s the best way out of here.” Said Azzo, or Arya, whoever she was. Dany wasn’t sure what she was to call her good sister while she wore the face of the bearded man. Glancing back at the grate, Daenerys leaned over and looked down the side of what appeared to be a sheer cliff.

 

“You just have to slide off the side, Dany.” Said the Dothraki next to her. “It’s easy.”

 

They were far beneath Maegor’s Holdfast, deep in the crypts beneath the Red Keep. Daenerys looked down at her cloak, hesitating. She watched as her good sister rolled her eyes.

 

“Here, give me the cloak.”

 

Daenerys pulled at the tie and carefully lifted the cloak off her shoulders. The Dothraki bundled it up and stuffed it into the sealskin sack she carried with her. Then watched as she tied the sack with a length of twine around her waist.

 

“Can’t you take that face off? It’s confusing me.” Said Daenerys eyeing the man.

 

“Don’t have clothes that fit, it’s better this way.” Said Arya or Azzo. The false black eyes looked up at her. “It’s okay, I scouted it only a few days ago, you just have to jump and let the waste take you down the Cliffside.” A strong hand reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I promise.”

 

Daenerys nodded and looked back into the fast flowing water, trying to ignore the unnamable items that bobbed in the dark depths. With a sharp breath, she leaped in, her bottom grazed against stone and then the grate flashed above her, her brow brushing the cold metal. There was a moment of eternity, where she was weightless in the moonlight, and then she was sliding down hard rock, rushing along at a speed she’d only know atop her son, Drogon.

 

Then the rock fell away and she was in the air, alone, the black water stretched before her. She fell for an age, she might have screamed, unlike a queen should, but it was cut off when the water came up to meet her, downing whatever embarrassment she might have felt at her cries in its depths.

 

There was a crash near her when she burst to the surface. Hands grabbed her shoulder and lifted her up, she was out of the water and her hands gripped against wood planks. Cool blue eyes met her gaze as she shivered the boat. The Dothraki, Azzo, was pulled up beside her.

 

“Welcome, My Queen.” Said Davos, with a kind smile made slight in the dull moonlight.

 

Daenerys lost her mind, she leaned over and clutched the old man to her breast. She breathed in the scent of the sea and wood, briefly, before letting him go, even in the near dark she could see the blush that bloomed on his cheeks.

 

“Well,” said Davos, his voice clipped with emotion. “let’s pull for the ship, lads.” The other men in the boat seemed to ignore her outburst and calmly pulled away from the Cliffside. They crossed Aegon’s high hill and the rush came into view, dark shapes moving across the water in their direction. There was a flash across the mouth of the river and a green flame snaked into the dark.

 

“The winch house.” Said Davos quietly next to her. “Ned took it earlier.”

 

“The chain?” said Daenerys, looking over at the old smuggler.

 

“Aye, to let the others in.” The boat moved across the water at a strong clip, Daenerys looked across the bay and near the quay she saw a glow burst into the night.

 

“Wildfire?” she asked breathlessly.

 

“Something of the sort.” Said Davos. They were moving in between large shapes in the water. Dark ships moving like ghosts towards the mouth of the river, their full sails whipping in the westerly wind. Even as she watched an orange glow grew on the ship before her and within moments, flames began to lick at its dark deck. Across the bay, a dozen lights followed the flames and lit the night. _Fire ships_ , she knew, _fire ships_ heading to King’s Landing. The wind was in their favor, leading the unmanned ships away from the small boats that peeled away from them.

 

Daenerys tried to stand up in the stern to see the course of the ships, but Arya pulled her back down. She shivered, not knowing what was coming next, until a cry when up behind her. “Ahoy!”

 

She turned and a ship was tacked against the wind waiting for them.

 

The boat bounced against the hull and Davos and the men in the boat allowed her to grip the ladder carved into the side, Strong hands making sure she was practically lashed to the side of the ship until she was climbing up, and a face appeared above her, hand reaching down to help her up on to the deck.

 

“Grey Worm?” she said breathlessly. The Unsullied pulled her up, making sure she was properly sat down on the deck before he looked up at her.

 

“Yes, Queen Daenerys.”

 

“What are you doing here?” She said, looking the man over. Then a soft figure appeared beside him and Missandei was there too.

 

“We’re needed here, Your Grace.” Said her friend.

 

Oh, she wanted to be mad, but in the midst of all of this chaos and yes, madness, Daenerys could only imagine a few happy faces she might have felt more welcome. She grabbed her sister, for that, was what the woman was in all but blood, and squeezed until the strength left her.

 

“We’re going to talk about this,” Dany said, leaning back from Missandei, her brow curled, but a smile forming on her lips.

 

“Of course, Your Grace.” Said the former slave girl. As the words left her mouth, her face was lit with a green flash. Daenerys turned and across the bay, high up against the shadow of the Red Keep, a flame rent the air. Even as the flame descended into a bright glow, a secondary explosion burst and in the flash, she saw part of the outer wall of the Red Keep fall into the sea.

 

“By the Gods,” Daenerys whispered under her breath, shivering at the sight. Davos came up beside her, leaning over the railing.

 

“Sometimes, Your Grace, “ He said, quietly. “You’ve got to break, to rebuild.” His warm hand gripped her shoulder. “Even the Iron throne, needs remaking nowadays.”


	11. Eighteen Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North's plan continues to unfurl...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter I'm afriad, but this is starting to set up the rest of the story as we enter Act Two. Thank you for reading.

Eighteen Steps:

 

“You comin’ to the Crook and Cock, Gamble?” said Stines, throwing a lazy arm over his shoulder. “Man can work up a mighty thirst workin’ them docks during this heat.”

 

Gamble laughed at his friend and tossed the last sack of grain into the bottom of the boat, then bent his back, letting the muscles stretch against his spine with three audible snaps in answer. “’Fraid not Stines, Cap’in says I’ll ‘ave an extra copper if I take this last load over.” He watched as the older Stines shook his bald head and left muttering about ‘lovesick pups’. Let them all say he was a lovestruck fook, he thought, when the rest of the crew was drinking and whoring he was remembering cornflower blue eyes and strawberry hair. When they were gambling away their silver, he was remembering cotton soft skin splashed against the green grass. _Sharla_. As he began the long pull down the Honeywine, it was as if the wind itself whispered her name to him.

 

Four years he’d worked the deck of the _Troubadour_ , a fat bottom cog that held the stench of wood rot that made it only slightly more pleasant than that of its crew. Four years away from Stymied Stone, a town or rather just a small gathering of huts up near Honeyholt, four years away from the prettiest maid he’d ever laid eyes on. He was near to his goal, five and thirty gold dragons for Sharla’s hand. Gamble had thought it a queen’s ransom when he had naught but a shirt and sack to his name the summer he’d worked their small croft. Far more than he could ever earn as a hand with a spade, so to sea he’d gone with the remembrance of her sweet kisses and wet tears on his one shirt.

 

Four years and it was nearing its end. A month if he was lucky, perhaps two if he was not. Just a run or two between Sunspear with new harvest in the Troubadour’s damp hold and he’d be with her again.

 

Gambled let the current take him down river, past the docked ships that lined the quay. Even with the sun gone an hour or more, the tradesman were still pedaling away into the twilight. He could hear the hammer of repairs bouncing across the water towards him. It was always like this in Old Town, busy, always something was afoot. He wondered briefly if he’d miss the noise once he made for Honeyholt for good, but knew he wouldn’t, it wasn’t in him to think much on it when he knew Sharla was waiting on him.

 

He crossed the Honeywine and made for the docks along the Northshore, cursing the Captain for being a damned miser. If the man only spent a little more coin Gamble and the rest wouldn’t have to make this trip a dozen times a day until the hold full. Though thinking on it, Gamble wouldn’t have spent the coin either. He let out a puffy chuckle and let his body sink away from the pain in his back and into the pleasant blue sky and lush fields the day he’d leave the sea forever.

 

A shout went up behind him. Across the river, a ship had shifted its cable and was slowly drifting away from its dock. Gamble paused he rowing and waited for a few moments, he knew he’d see the shadows of the crew begin righting the vessel, no doubt some sluggard would get a lash or twenty over the cable. Yet no shadows came, the ship spun into the middle of the river and listlessly floated downstream.

 

Gamble looked over at the _Troubadour_ sitting squat only a few stokes away, he saw some faces against the railing. “Oi, you lot might have to pull over and gather that ship up.” Even as he said it, he began seeing a boat starting to lower into the water from the cogs side. He turned back and watched the dark shape of the ship slip past him. It had made it into the narrowing bend, docks on either side of the river in danger if someone didn’t do something. Cursing, he oared his boat towards the silent vessel and began pulling in its direction. The fucking thing might be in the Whispering Sound before those drunk pricks lowered the boat over the side.

 

He hissed as he bent into the oars, back giving an angry spasm, leaving him thinking he might need a drink himself before the night was over…there was a sound like the world had cracked open behind him and in the distance he could see the Citadel lit bright green.

 

Gamble spun in his seat, heat slamming into his face. Across the river rushed a wall of green flame.

 

“ _Sharla._ ” Was all he could whisper before he was blown to dust upon the breeze.

 

 

++++

 

 

The lantern swayed with the ship, sending their shadows bouncing back and forth across the narrow passage. Daenerys steadied herself against the wall, trying to remember the last time she’d been at sea. Years ago, on the way to White Harbor she realized. In those days everything seemed so simple, defeat the dead, rule her people. That was before Jon…that was before everything really.

 

Missandei gave her an understanding look over her shoulder. Her friend hung the lantern beside the door to her berth and helped her inside, falling back into the familiar work of helping Daenerys shed her outer gown, wrapping her in dry linens, while she found a set of small clothes that fit her and a heavy woolen nightgown that hung loosely around her.

 

“I brought a few things for you to wear, Your Grace.” Said Missandei, while she lit the candles around the cabin. “They had to come from Braavos. I may have to make some adjustments to the fit, but we’ll make them work until we get to the North.” She began undoing Daenerys braids, making slow work with the damp tangled mess, her nose rising unpleasantly. “Perhaps I can have them bring the tub up from the hold if you wish to bathe, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys watched her friend in the mirror, wanting to laugh, but feeling so tired that it had become a cold ache in her bones. She let out a light snort instead. “Is that your diplomatic way of telling me I smell, Missandei?”

 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Said Missandei with a small smirk at her in the mirror. With a bow of her head, she began moving to the door.

 

“What have I gotten myself into, My Friend,” Daenerys said, stopping her retreat. She watched Missandei smooth the front of her dress down in thought and then sigh.

 

“What did Arya tell you?” she said finally, coming to sit in the chair beside her queen.

 

“Very little was needed,” Daenerys said a sad smile playing on her lips. “she only said that brother the king required I take the last step.”

 

Missandei tilted her head with a knit brow, no question passed her lips, but Daenerys could see it in her eyes.

 

The Dragon Queen sighed, perhaps it was a silly thing that a man she hadn’t seen in many years could have such a strong hold on her from so many miles away with so few words. Arya had been adamant that she could say no more than that ‘the last step’. That if Daenerys refused, she would fade back into the shadows, but it was plain on her feral good sisters to face, that things were already set in motion. Dany had a choice, stay in the Red Keep and wait for the blood to find her, or bring the blood on her own. She chose the latter.

 

“The last step?” Missandei repeated the words, rolling them around in her mouth.

 

Daenerys reached over and grabbed the stiff brush Missandei had placed out for her. She waved her friend off when she began to stand to help and started pulling the brush through her drying hair herself, flinching when she felt something slimy come away in her hand. Thoughtfully, she ran the brush through her hair, watching in the mirror as the silver sheet began straightening against her back.

 

“It was a ship and cabin, much like this,” Daenerys said quietly. “We were on our way to White Harbor, I’m sure you remember.” She took a glance and saw her friend nod slightly. “I was trying to read over some dispatches, the last we had before we left Dragonstone. _Trying_ is very much the word.” She heard Missandei chuckle under her breath. “ Then, three strong knocks and Jon was at my door.” Gods, the look on his face. He was so terrified. Dragons and dead men she’d seen the man face, but when it came to asking something for himself, he nearly failed. “I admit, I was surprised,” She said quietly. “ but it was a welcome one. I think you may remember the man had tied me into quite a knot at that point, I didn’t know what to make of him.”

 

“I remember,” Missandei said quietly, a grin began spreading across her face.

 

“So there was this man at my door, one that I’d come to admire and when he stepped into my cabin, he shut the door as if he knew exactly what would happen next. But then he just stood there staring at me.” Daenerys paused brushing her hair. “I fully expected some declaration, some line of devotion…” she rolled her eyes. “You know the type, My Friend.”

 

“I do.”

 

“I would have allowed it too. Gods the man could seem so obtuse at times. It would have been nice to have some blatant evidence he favored me without needing to be nearly dying to say it.” She sighed. Even after, Jon always took the longest route to naming the things he wished for himself. “ But he didn’t, he stood there for a moment and then said _eighteen steps_.”

 

“Eighteen steps?” Missandei said frowning at her.

 

“That is exactly what I said to him,” Daenerys said with a laugh. “And then Jon says, eighteen steps I’ve taken to stand before you. I only ask you take the last one, Your Grace.”

 

Missandei giggled like a girl, the one she’d been when Daenerys had met her. The sound warmed the cold in her bones.

 

“I couldn’t let the man off so easy, My Friend,” Daenerys said with a grin. “I said, you must be mistaken, My Lord. It can’t be more than half a dozen between your berth and mine.” She joined her friend in the next giggle and then caught her breath. “And Jon says, of course, you’re right, My Queen, but I had the to walk the distance three times to find the courage to face you.”

 

Her friend let out a bark of a laugh that caused her to snort and that set the both of them into a fit of laughter for a moment. Gods, how she had missed the company of her most trusted advisor. How had she thought she could send the woman around the world and not feel the loss. Daenerys steadied herself and gathered her thoughts.

 

“ Missandei, I that took that last step as he asked.” She said quietly, remembering what happened next, but that memory would be locked away for her remembrance only. That night had been…illuminating. Something fraught with soft words whispered against heated skin. They had broken and remade each other that night, or at least began to. By the time the sun rose from the sea, she had been different than when it dipped the evening before and Jon along with her. Daenerys paused in the memory, trying to push it back down to the depths of her mind. “I’ve taken it again, My Friend. I was frightened when I’d taken it before, but Jon jumped with me. He’s not here now, is he.” She swallowed thickly “And now it appears as if the man has made it impossible for me to take it back, even if I decide I’ve been foolish.”

 

Missandei reached out and patted her hand and stood. “Perhaps that was the point, Your Grace." She made for the door. "I’ll go see if I can find a couple extra hands for the tub.”

 

++++

 

Bathed and refreshed, with her hair plated in a long braid down her back by Missandei’s hand, Daenerys swept into the long galley, interrupting what appeared to be a heated argument between Davos and Arya. The two of them stared across the table at one another for a moment, before Arya sat down in a huff. Davos merely rolled up a map that had been laid across the table and tied it at either end.

 

“Your Grace,” Davos said, bending his head. “I hope I find you rested.”

 

“You find me ill at ease, Ser Davos,” Daenerys said quietly. “I suspect you’ll want to remedy that.”

 

A look passed between the old knight and her good sister. Daenerys sighed. “I’ve come to be in your company through a sewer and I’ve just watched you’re king destroy my birthright. The least I could expect is the two of you to be forthright with me.”

 

“Jon wants to explain it himself.” Announced Arya with a shrug, then she placed her feet up on the table and pulled a couple nuts from a bowl in front of her, cracking them in her palms and picked at the meat with a pair of fingers. She leaned back, eyeing Daenerys across the table. “He has his reasons, Dany. Though,” Arya tossed back a couple fragments of a walnut and chewed thoughtfully. “even I don’t know what all of them are.”

 

“I trust you can at least explain to me why I’m here?” Daenerys said looking at Davos. She gave him a strong gaze, one she knew had worked on him before and was pleased when the dear old man refused to look at her.

 

Davos sighed and shook his head. “Over a year ago we got word that a Maester Walmac had sailed from Sunspear to Meereen, at the order of Princess Arianne.” Davos motioned for her to sit down and Daenerys complied, pulling her skirts around her and over the narrow bench. She furrowed her brow at Davos, but stayed silent waiting for him to continue. “We used an asset,” he darted an eye over to Arya, who shook her head. “to determine why exactly a Maester would be wantin' to visit with the Regent of the Bay of Dragons, Captain Daario Naharis.”

 

“That sellsword of yours told the Maester why there’s been no heir for the Southern Kingdom.” Arya said, looking up. Daenerys saw the grey eyes narrow at her, as if measuring something. “I killed that blue-haired fuck if you care to know.”

 

Daenerys glanced over at Missandei with her eyes wide. Her friend only nodded. Daario was dead, it brought a distant sense of shock though not surprise. Then in the next moment, she realized what they were telling her. “They know I’m barren.” She said quietly, turning her mother’s ring upon her thumb. That was why the Consort and Ser Gerold had become emboldened recently.

 

“Aye, Your Grace.” Said Davos quietly, he dipped his head and caught her eye. “It’s naught to be ashamed of.” He smiled kindly when she nodded her head silently, holding onto her composure. “Though that wasn’t all that they had planned. At the same time the Maester was in Meereen, the Golden Company marched from Volantis heading east. We suspected they meant to do something similar as they had done in Kings Landin'.”

 

Daenerys sucked in a breath and looked between Davos’ kind face and Arya’s hard drawn lips. “I see.” She said finally. “To pry me off the throne rather than onto it.”

 

“Something like that, yes.” Said Davos. “Or at least keep you in check.”

 

“We killed all those cunts for you, Dany.” Said Arya with a growl. “ There’s still more that needs doin’ though.”

 

Daenerys blew out a breath. It was as Ser Jorah had told her, she had only stopped the bleeding for a time. Now the world would bleed again. “What do we do now?”

 

“We go back home and wait.” Said Davos, eyeing her.

 

“Wait?” Daenerys looked over at him. “Forgive me Ser Davos, but you’ve just declared war on my…”She paused, was it her kingdom now? She’d just willingly fled it. Daenerys shook her head. “Against the Southern Kingdom.” Even to her, it sounded foolish to say it like that. Arya seemed to give her a sympathetic grimace. “Surely you realize what that means?”

 

“We’ve other things at work.” Said Davos with a nod and if he was going to say anymore it forgot the next moment when they heard shouts come from the deck above. Daenerys hurried along with all the others and when she ascended to the dark night, lit only by the ominous glow of King’s Landing in the distance there were already two small shapes appearing over the side of the ship.

 

“Your Grace!” cried a voice and then a wet figure had embraced her. She pulled the hood back and Dorna was looking up at her with wide terrified eyes. Daenerys gave a relieved sigh in the back of her throat and pressed the girl to her breast. She watched as another figure was hoisted over the side and then Little Sam was on his knees, face nearly pressed into the wooden planks, chest heaving against his wet cloak. Dorna looked behind her at the boy, then with all the air of a princess bit out. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Samwell.”

 

“Aye,” said Sam, pushing himself up onto his knees. Daenerys saw a grin split his face. “Forgive me if I wish to catch my breath first, My Lady, that was a bit of work.”

 

“Where’s Edd?” Davos said, leaning down to Samwell’s side. “Ser Jorah?”

 

“I don’t know,” Samwell said shaking his head. “ I saw Ned and the others pulling for the _Silver Lady_ , they should be there by now. But I haven’t seen Edd nor Ser Jorah since the Red Keep.”

 _No_. Daenerys eyes flashed back to the glow against the horizon. They couldn’t still be there, it would be their death.

 

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” Davos said, coming to her side. “We knew this could happen. Signal, the _Silver Lady_ ,” He said quietly to a crewman next to him. “Have them make for the Rosby Road, that’s where the others will be if they made it out of the Keep.”

 

“I wish to go as well,” Daenerys said sharply to the old Knight.

 

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Said Davos with as serious a face as she could remember passing between them. “But it’s my duty to make sure you’re as far away from that fookin’ city as I can manage by the time the sun rises.”

 

Dorna flinched at the growl that burst in Daenerys chest and she had to remember to keep herself calm. It would not do to force her will on these people, not _yet_ anyway. She knew she must gain their trust again. Placing a hand on the back of the little girls head, she repeated Jon’s words to herself. _Remember who you are, Dany_.

 

The deck shifted while the ship tacked and began beating its way against the strong westerly breeze. Northwest. North. Back to Jon Snow.


	12. The Imp Drinks And The Bastard Knows Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has to change plans, Dany has a talk with no one and Jon has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple chapters will feel a little transitional as we begin to bring these players in the game together and then, well two chapters from now is THAT chapter...

They had ridden hard through the day and into the night, thirty miles or more of flying turf beneath their horse's hooves until it became too dark and treacherous for them to continue without the use of torches. He gave the order to stop and they made camp in a thicket of trees far off the Gold Road. The few men at arms he’d brought along foraged for wood and soon a fire shot sparks up into the night and Tyrion could finally ease back against a downed log, rubbing his sore knees.

 

“The oil, if you’ve brought it, Oren,” Tyrion said with a hiss. It seemed the older he got, the more his small joints cried against the strain of simply going about his business. Perhaps he’d need a wheeled chair like the Stark boy one day. Pausing in kneading the knotted flesh he frowned into the dark beyond the fire and them shook his head at himself. His steward returned with a sack slung over his shoulder, pulling a soft down bedroll and a brown bottle. “I’ll do it.” He said waving the boy off. He hitched up his trousers and slathered a fair amount of the noxious oil on his knee, rubbing it into it, a contented sigh escaping his lips as he felt it begin to work.

 

Tyrion watched Oren in his Lannister livery go about his work, tending the fire and piling a selection of hard bread and cheeses onto a pewter plater. “Never mind that, boy.” He held up his hand. “Give me the wineskin. That’s all I need to fill my belly tonight.”

 

The boy hesitated to look between his lord and the skin in his hand. Tyrion blew a heated breath at him.

 

“She’s not here to have your head, it’ll be fine.” Tyrion bit out. Gods, Dorna had somehow gotten it into her head he spent far too much of his time drunk recently and made sure all of the servants were aware, no matter how much he denied it. No doubt the Queen had been putting the words in her head. _The Queen_ , he sighed. _What a fucking mess this was. You should have been better at your job Imp,_ he thought wryly.

 

Reluctantly the boy handed over the skin and Tyrion hummed in the back of his throat when the Dornish sour hit his tongue. He smacked his lips and watched Oren roll out the bedroll near the fire, smoothing down the edges with a pair of shaking hands. “You cold? “He said watching him.

 

“No, My Lord.” Said the boy without looking up. “Only tired from the road, I shall find my own bed as soon as I can.”

 

“Eat first, “Tyrion said waving the wineskin at the pile of cheese and bread. “I’ll not need it.” He gave his tongue another spray of the red and slumped back against the stump. Oren finished with his smoothing and then set about gnawing on a piece of hard bread he plucked off the plate, taking a seat across the fire. Tyrion smirked at him.

 

“Not exactly the royal kitchens tonight is it?”

 

Oren took a hard swallow, very reminiscent of a bird eating a slug. “No, My Lord.”

 

“See me to the Rock in ten days’ time and I shall fill your belly with plums and pies.” Said Tyrion.

 

“The Rock, My Lord?” said the boy with interest. Tyrion had no doubt the lad had some kitchen girl he liked to roll with every chance he got. At least, that’s what he would do if he had the desire for it anymore.

 

“Yes, we go there and await the word of the Queen.”

 

“Of course, My Lord,” Oren said quietly, he rocked on his heels while he popped the heel of bread in his mouth. Tyrion leaned his head back and stared at the stars for a time, he heard Oren make to stand.

 

“I remember a night like this long ago.” He said quietly. “When I was drinking wine by a fire and the stars blazed overhead.” He looked up and Oren had taken his seat again. “There was a boy there, just as you are now, sitting across the fire, watching me drink. Of course, I always had a book in my lap at all times in those days.”

 

Oren frowned and looked down into the flames.

 

In his mind, Tyrion could still see that boy, sitting there across the fire. Furs pulled up to his neck framing a lily white face, dark curls blowing in the breeze.

 

“He was the fifth king that year at Winterfell.” Said Tyrion quietly, remembering.

 

“Five kings, My Lord?” said Oren looking up.

 

Tyrion smirked at the boys horrified face. “Not those five, that came later. Though,” He pushed himself up higher on his log. “that’s where it all started. All the shit that’s come and gone and that month at Winterfell was the most important of all.” He drank from his skin and let the warmth sink into his blood. “ I didn’t know he was a king when I met Jon Snow. He was only a boy hacking at a straw dummy in the yard then, not allowed to go to the feast on account he’s bastard.”

 

“Jon Snow,” Oren repeated. He looked up at Tyrion, all the questions that everyone wanted to ask written in his eyes.

 

“Go on, then. I’d rather you’d be curious then simple.” Tyrion drawled.

 

“Is it true, what they say he did?” Oren said quietly, his eyes trying to meet his own, but failing.

 

“Depends on who’s saying it.” Said Tyrion. “If you ask the Maseters, the Faith, then no it’s not. If you want the truth, spend a night in a tavern in the Riverlands.” Tyrion tipped his wineskin north. “There is where the truth lies.” Tyrion swallowed. “My truth is that fate is a funny thing and I watched its hand weld Jon Snow and those around him.” He absently ground his teeth, letting his jowls work against an old pain. “My truth is that I thought the only thing smarter than _fate_ is a Lannister.” He let out a long breath. “I suppose I spent too many years with my father.”

 

“My Lord!” a shadow came into the trees, one of the men at arms. “There’s somethin’ you should see.”

 

Tyrion frowned at his story being interrupted, but pushed himself up from the ground, ignoring the pops of ill-used joints. He followed the guard through the trees until they came to a clearing, the ghostly line of the gold road laid before them.

 

“Look there.” He said the guard point to the eastern horizon.

 

Brushing against the stars was an orange glow, like the rising sun pushing back the night. Tyrion felt his eyes widen and the knot in his knees was replaced by a knot in his stomach. Fate, he said to himself.

 

“Break camp,” he shouted. “Break camp!” He tossed the near-empty wineskin into the brush. On shaking legs he made for their small camp, old memories forgot in what was his true duty now. Protect the crown. “We make for Raventree Hall!”

 

 

++++

 

The winds had shifted in the night once they’d cleared the blackwater and the now the ship was bouncing happily in a strong Northeast wind out into the narrow sea. Daenerys had slept fitfully in her bed, Dorna pressed up against her side, the innocence of youth allowing sleep to claim her near as soon as she felt the pillow beneath her head.

 

Now, having given up on sleep hours before and given into the new day, she stood at the railing of the ship, head turned back the way they’d come to a black mount jutting out of the sea. Dragonstone. Daenerys had a brief wondering if she ever would have left that island citadel if she’d known her fate. Or if she’d ever have come to Westeros at all. _You would have_ , she told herself, _you would have come and fought the dead_.

 

 _That_ Daenerys certainly would have.

 

The Dragon Queen had mighty sons and vast armies at her command. Had the confidence and conviction of a just cause. To claim her families seat and rule as they had done, as she was always meant too…and she had. Let no one say, that the oaths she swore to herself far away in the Dothraki sea as a grieving girl wishing for home, hadn’t done exactly what she set out to do. Well, mostly. Perhaps six kingdoms didn’t have the same true ring as _seven_ , but that was beside everything else. She had ruled, she had claimed her families seat of power…and now she had left it willingly.

Daenerys took a deep soothing breath and watched the waves crest white as far as her eye could see to the horizon. She left the throne willingly and already, she could feel the long weight of her reign uncurling from around her chest. _Is this what you wanted Jon_? She thought. _You wanted me to feel, light and free again?_ As she had when she flew on the back of her Drogon.

 

“I will make the best of this.” She whispered into the whipping breeze and stretch of grey water.

 

“Fine day.” Came a call and then Arya was leaned against the railing with her. Her good sister had a cloak wrapped around her, hood up nearly covering her eyes. Daenerys watched her eyes, so like Jon’s, brush across the sea and then snap back to hers. They moved from her nose, her lips, chin; as if memorizing or looking for something. Then, the moment was gone and Arya relaxed and leaned against the rail beside her, letting the stiff wind push the hood from her head and rip her hair from its band. Her good sister gave a growl and pushed the hair from her face with an irritated hand. Her good sister had grown into her looks, she had the look of a true Stark, a wild beauty rarely seen to be appreciated.

 

“You’ve grown into a woman in my absence, Arya Stark.” Said Daenerys with a small chuckle. “It suits you.”

 

Arya snorted. “Aye, we’ve all grown I suppose.”

 

Daenerys nodded and looked back to the sea. She heard a happy laugh from behind her and turned to see Ser Davos with little Dorna at his side, pointing at something in the rigging. It was a sight that warmed the deepest parts she kept hidden. Such gentle souls the world held and denied them the simplest of happiness allow to all men and women. Davos would have made a grandfather worthy of the title as if he was born to hold little babes in his arms. Four sons she knew he had born with his wife, all lost to him, never to know the joy of his blood furthered after he was gone. Her chest tightened before she could brush it away.

 

“Fucking hell, she does look like her cunt of a mother, doesn’t she.” Growled Arya next to her.

 

Daenerys turned sharply and saw her good sister glaring at Dorna across the deck.

 

“She’s a sweet child, Arya. She’s not like Cersei at all.”

 

“Sweet Child?” Arya sniffed, then turned back to the water. “That’s what they used to say about me.”

 

Daenerys threw back her head and laughed, causing Arya to give her a sharp look followed by a knowing grin. Oh, how Dany had missed her strange family. The bubbling laughter subsided and Dany let the moment take her. Her family, the one that had been forged in the depths of the long night with only the cold and the dread to bind them. Somewhere, Missandei and Grey Worm were breaking they're fast together, it would be nice to sit with them and talk quietly for a time. “I should go find some toast before it’s all gone.”

 

Arya nodded and let her take a step back before she turned. “He wouldn’t do it, you know.”

 

Daenerys stopped and turned with a raised brow.

 

“Whatever it is you think he might do to hurt you, that’s not Jon,” Arya said fiercely. She came until she was eye to eye with Daenerys, her face softened, letting it hold something like a rare smile though sad. “You know my brother, he has shit luck with women.”

 

++++

 

“It was wildfire, My Lord.” Said Maester Krent solemnly, bowing his bald head. “I’m sure of it. Green flame, burning even in the water. We tried to douse it with sand from the bank but…” The old Maester shook his head. “A nasty business.”

 

Lord Baelor leaned back in his seat. _Wildfire?_ Fourteen ships destroyed upon the Honeywine in the blink of an eye and two more days of burning docks and stifled trade. “Lannisters are known to use that cursed shit.” He growled out. _Lannister._ Would the queen be moving against him, through her hand? He knew Lord Tyrion had gained a tasted for the green blight at the Blackwater when he fought off Stannis Baratheon. It didn’t quite fit though.

 

“I don’t think so, My Lord.” Said Maester Krent slowly. He held up a loosely rolled parchment. “We received this earlier, came by the rookery, though it has no sigil.”

 

Lord Hightower leaned forward and took the missive from the Maester’s outstretched hand with a scowl. He opened it and ran his eyes over the message.

 

_The Queen is dead, Hightower. Dorne moves against you. Believe me not if you wish, but look to the Torentine to see with your own eyes. The snakes are slithering into the Reach._

 

Hightower ran his eyes over the words again, making sure he was reading it correctly, the heat rose upon his neck and flushed his face. He ground down on his tongue trying to hold back the less noble things he might say, though it didn’t seem to calm him. He took a shallow breath and then looked up at the Maester. “Bring me the dock master’s manifest, I want to know where that gods damn ship came from.” He crumpled the note and tossed it across his solar. “And bring me the _fucking_ High Septon, I have need of his counsel.”

 

 

++++

 

_He was on a rocky outcrop overlooking a long valley, with a slow river snaking away beyond his sight in the moonlight. The wind was chilled and small flurries of snow brushed his face, melting when they touched his skin. He took a deep breath and let it out watching it coalesce into a fog. It brought the corners of his mouth up as he bared his fangs. How long since he’d been in the cold? How long since he felt the bite of snow and the burn of a bitterly cold night. By the joy that raced in his blood, far too long._

_He snuffled at the stone with his snout and then lifted it into the wind and knew there was game down below in the snow covered wood, meat to feed his need. Meat in mouth. Meat for my brother. Meat for my mother…_

_He shifted his body and began to coil it under him, ready to lift from the ledge with a mighty heave._

_“Welcome first blood.” Said a deep voice near him and Jon turned sharply, snarling at the unwanted company, the fire burning deep in his chest, wanting to release it._

_The man sat upon the ledge, deerskin leathers hung loosely against his frame, dark hair pulled back from his head. The grey eyes washed over him and Jon wanted to lash out. “Alric.” He rumbled, but it came out of sharp hiss instead of words._

_“Peace.” Said Alric, holding up his hands. “I’ve not come to trade barbs.” A slow smile pulled at his thin lips upon the shadowed face. “Not that I ever left.” He pointed beyond Jon into the depths of the cave. “Your fire bride approaches.”_

_Jon swung his massive head and saw the giant outline in the dark. Deep red eyes burning. As he watched, the shadow shifted and shrank until it was only the outline of a familiar figure laying on her side on the stone floor. Narrow waist flaring into the fine curve of a woman’s hip. She sat up and her sheet of moon-glow hair fell to the side. The gaze swept over his and he was lost in a violet embrace…_

 

++++

 

“Dany?”

 

Jon set up in bed and let the furs fall to his waist. She was there, he saw her. But it wasn’t her, she was on a ship far out to sea.

 

 The Red eyes in the cave.

 

 His own form distorted in the dream.

 

Snow flurries.

 

Jon leapt from the bed and pulled a cotton tunic over his head. He bounced towards the door, startling the guards dozing on either side with he threw it open. _Alric was there_ , he slowed in his step… but then pushed the thought away and continued down the corridor.

 

“Sam!” He cried, stalking down the hallway. “Sam!”

 

By the time he’d reached his friend's door, it was opening and a blurry eyed Samwell Tarly was standing in his nightshirt giving him a sour look and trying to smooth down the hair stuck at odd angles from his head. “Yes, Jon?”

 

“We need to go north, Sam.” Jon gasped at him, heart thundering in his chest, holding on to the memory of what he’d seen in his dream. The long valley, the slow river. It was the somewhere in the Frostfangs. “We need to go north, they’re there.”


	13. The Last Lord Of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to leave this here and walk away quietly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I won't be going quietly. Let me be clear, this is NOT one of those two chapters I said will come before THAT chapter. The first of those should be out friday or saturday. Let's just call this a bonus chapter.
> 
> This is a short flashback into the long night. There has been some question about a few of the characters fates and I thought I would give a short window to show a bit of it. 
> 
> I wouldn't call it a stand-alone, it does in fact forward the plot of the main story, but I knew I needed to include this bit somewhere and this seemed like a good time. It may *swallows nervously* not be my best writing, literally wrote this on my lunch break and spent a few minutes editing it at home. Soooo yeah.
> 
> Anyway...this is dedicated to the incomparable commentator WILSON.

The Last Lord Of Winterfell

 

 

Winterfell: 305 AC

 

 

“No.” He hissed backing away from Bran’s outstretched arm. Circling his thin forearm were five black marks like a hand had gripped it. He tried to control the buzz frothing in his head, but only managed when his brother’s somber voice cut through it.

 

“I’ve suspected for some time,” Bran said, pulling the sleeve back down his arm and placing his hands in his lap. Though his brother was often distant and cold there were moments where the man broke through, or maybe whatever amounted of the man left behind when the Three-Eyed-Raven assumed his place. A look of wry consternation passed over the young face as if he’d suddenly caught the wit behind a cruel jape. “I got too close in a vision, too eager by far, and he marked me.”

 

Jon breathed out slowly, eyes roaming the face so like his brother Bran and finding so little of him there. “And you think this is how he’s been outmaneuvering us? I thought you said he was a greenseer?”

 

“I thought so, but I wasn’t at the weirwood when queen burned the woods around Long Lake.” Bran let out a light anguished chuckle. “You surprised him.” He looked up at Jon, brow raised. “I’ve never seen him surprised before. That’s why he didn’t pursue your retreat.” Bran nodded. “He is wary now, but he’ll want to end this quickly I believe, we can use that.”

 

“He’s,” Jon swallowed and placed a hand on the stone leg of Eddard Stark for support. “He’s been using your visions, they connect you. He sees what you do?” He could feel the truth of it, even as he said it. He looked up at the face of his uncle, wondering if the man was calling from beyond the grave to listen to his own mind.

 

Though usually damp and cold, the crypt suddenly felt hot beyond bearing. Jon growled out a frustrated sigh and slammed a gloved fist down on the stonework next to him. He looked back at Bran, still sitting motionless in his wheeled chair. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He knelt down next his brother or whatever this being was that held his face. “You cannot ask this of me. Our family Bran…think about our sisters. Surely you’re in there somewhere and know there must be another way?”

 

“There is not,” said Bran, for a moment the mask faltered and a soft smile appeared. “Our sisters will understand, Jon, they're strong. We will all sacrifice before this was is over. This is merely mine.”The smile disappeared and his next words crushed any attempts Jon might have had in mind at denying him. “You must kill the boy, Jon Snow. It takes an Aegon to rule.”

 

++++

They filed in slowly, all of them tired, exhausted by the war. By marching through snow banks a dozen feet thick. Guided only by torchlight and intuition while the sun hid behind black clouds that brought nothing but cold misery upon their heads. His sisters came first and Jon tried to find the strength to look them in the eye while he explained his intentions. Davos and Tormund arrived together, where weeks before the pair could be relied upon for a smile or two to lighten the mood, even the jolly couldn’t summon joy any longer. They were losing and everyone knew it. Jon hoped to changed that in the next few moments.

 

The fist around his chest tightened when his wife arrived with her advisors in tow. _His wife_. As she had not so pleasantly reminded him during a very brief and loud argument the night before when he voiced his intentions to her in the privacy of their chambers. He watched her round the table, nodding to the assembled. Their eyes met briefly before she took her seat next to him. He felt the warm touch on the top of his thigh and he welcomed the support for what he was about to do. _Kill the boy_ , he said to himself, _let the man be born_. If only Maester Aemon knew what his advice would lead him to do.

 

 Lady Brienne along with Jaime Lannister entered the solar and quickly shut the door behind them, latching it soundly.

 

“Welcome.” Jon started, standing up and leaning over the map. He saw Sansa eyeing him and then look around. “Bran’s not coming,” Jon said to her. Her blue Tully eyes showed confusion and he steeled himself. “Bran believes and I have no reason to doubt him, that the Night’s King has been using him to know of our plans.” Jon forced himself to look her directly in the eye. “His input at these meetings is no longer required.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth to say something, but Arya grabbed her by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze, silencing whatever question she wished to ask next. Dany shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to him. Several faces around the table seemed to collapse in pain. _We’ve lost so much time, so many lives wasted because what we thought our greatest asset, was working against us._ Anger flared in his stomach. He would put that fucking monster down with his last breath if the gods allowed.

 

It was Lord Tyrion that seemed to come to himself first. “If the Night’s King is using this…”The little man waved a hand in the air. “connection against us, could we possibly use it against him?”

 

A few voices murmured approval.

 

“That’s what I intend to do,” Jon said. He placed a finger on the map, “ The Dead Army was last seen moving along the Kings Road north of Tumbledown Tower, if he follows the pattern we’ve seen before, he’ll try and _collect_ , “He shivered at using such a simple word for the enslavement of souls. “ whatever he can from the Wolfwood, most likely run though Crofters’ Village,” He traced a finger down the map and tapped the small square. “ and then march on us here at Winterfell.”

 

“He won’t linger long,” said Jaime Lannister across the table from him. “There is no one to bring into his fold as far as we know,” _Only fools_ , was what Jon knew he didn’t say. “ It’ll be a matter of days.”

 

“It will.” Said Jon. A hush fell over the room. It seemed as if it was the first time that any of them had truly considered they might all be dead before they saw the sun again. “But we won’t be here.” He looked around at them. “At least most of us won’t.” He waited a beat for the quicker minds to catch up to his thoughts. “I’m going to ask for two thousand volunteers to hold Winterfell while the rest make a retreat south.”

 

“You would abandon Winterfell to that Monster?” hissed Sansa heatedly. “This is our home, Jon…”

 

“Our _people_ are our home, sister,” Jon said sharply. “Winterfell is stone and mortar, all of it can be replaced.” He paused steeling himself. “It’ll have to be.” He saw the fright mix with anger pass over her face and it flushed red.

 

“The Whispering Wood.” He heard Jaime Lannister say in wonder across the table. The lion looked up from the map. “You’re going to do the same as your brother.” Amusement sung on his face. “If it can trick my father, surely it can trick that thing.”

 

“Exactly,” Jon said in confirmation. “Two thousand will hold the castle, draw him in.” Jon took a breath. “Bran says he can ensure it.”

 

“NO!” This time Sansa stood from her seat, knocking several pieces over. “You would send our own brother to his death?”

 

Jon frowned at her. Sansa hadn’t been acting herself recently. This wasn’t the same woman who argued Rickon was already lost to them before they met the Boltons.

 

“Aye, I would, Sister,” Jon said, trying to fight the prickle that came to his eyes. He felt Dany’s hand slip into his and squeeze it gently. “We will break that fucker’s back here at Winterfell. When he comes on his dragon and the dead have come close enough.” He breathed, letting the pain he felt in his heart for what he would ask men to do not in his name, but in the name of the living. “Then we’ll ignite our wildfire cache and blow it all to the hells.”

 

Sansa seemed to crumble in front of him, Arya brought her close and when Jon looked into the grey eyes of his youngest sister it sent a shiver over him seeing the approval they held. _How cold are you little one_ , he wondered for a moment.

 

“His Grace and I have discussed this,” said Dany quietly. “We will only ask for volunteers, no one married or with children will be accepted.”

 

 _Yes, she’d been quite clear on that bit last night_ , Jon thought with a sigh.

 

“Your brother is staying?” Ser Jaime said quietly. Jon looked up at him and nodded. The once golden knight of Lannister, now bearded in a tattered black cloak straightened himself. “You’ll need a commander, Your Grace.”

 

“Jaime…” Lord Tyrion started, but a steely look from his brother silenced him.

 

“What better moment to repay our blood debt, Brother,” Jaime growled out. He looked back at Jon, “A Lannister always pays his debt, Your Grace.”

 

The breath caught in his throat and Jon could only nod at the knight. He looked over at Lord Tyrion, who was looking at his queen as she might make this nightmare go away.

 

“I will be his second, with My Lady’s leave.” Lady Brienne said strongly. Ser Jaime swung his head towards already starting to deny her, but whatever passed between them went unsaid.

 

“ My little ones are gone.” Bit a voice. “I’m not going to let the big woman and the sister fooker ‘ave all the fun,” Tormund said slowly. “I want to see that cold cunts face when he goes up in flames.” A slow sneer formed up the red man’s beard. “Even if I follow ‘im right after. Worse ways t’go, n at least I get to choose.” He swung an arm around the Lannister knights shoulder and leered over at Lady Brienne on his other side. “They’ll write songs ‘bout us.”

 

Jon swallowed, looking at those three. _Gods, Dany was right wasn’t she_. It didn’t always have to be him. Sometimes he could let others do the dying for him, but it felt so wrong to let it happen. _That’s how you know you’re a good king_. He looked down at her, and while she hadn’t actually said those words out loud, her eyes told him it’s what she would have said at that moment.

 

“I thank you,” Jon said, barely above a whisper. Dany squeezed his hand.

 

“ _We_ , thank you.” She said, bowing her head. “All the Seven Kingdoms will thank you.”

 

In the silence, there was the scrape of a chair and suddenly Lord Tyrion had flung the door open and passed silently out of the room, without looking back at all.

 

 

+++++

 

 

He watched it slither from the Wolfswood, clearly seen against the white of the wide snowy plain before the walls of Winterfell. Like a slow moving shadow made of rot and death, it gripped at the ancient citadel constricting around it, choking it. The height of the strong wall meant little to the Army of the Dead, they simply piled upon themselves until the ramparts were overrun. Even miles away Jon could hear the cries that rang up. He could imagine the retreat from the walls, hurrying to close the gates to the inner keep. The barred doors to the crypt shaking against its hold with the weight of his ancestors come undead. _Bones of my mother_ …He drew a shaking breath and felt the tears begin to freeze on his cheeks. Daenerys warmth near at hand was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the snow. _You must watch_ , he told himself, _this is your doing_.

 

He could imagine Bran sitting calmly next to the Weirwood, waiting, ignoring all the chaos around him.

 

“Where are you?” Jon said to himself, scanning the dark sky.

 

“There.” Dany pointed a gloved finger at the clouds and a shadow banked down, spouting blue flame into the keep. Jon held his breath. The shadow dipped again and this time disappeared within.

 

“Do it.” Jon pleaded, under his breath. “Do it.”

 

Seconds passed, his heart beating twice for every one of them.

 

“Do it.”

 

Night became green day. He had to shield his eyes against the burst that rent Winterfell in two. A second and a third followed. Heat washed over him like dragon breath, spraying his face with hot mist. A report caught his ear, sharp and twisted. Followed by another and another.

 

When the glow disappeared, Winterfell was no more and Jon Snow cried like a babe in his wife’s arms.

 

“We have a chance now, Jon.” She whispered next to him.


	14. To Make Them Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Lord and Lion. Old Bear and the Red Rooster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took a few days longer then I thought while I decided exactly what needed to be in this chapter. Slowly letting us drift our way north. While this chapter seems a bit slower, we're really just setting up for the next big fireworks display.

“You want to do what?”

 

Little Sam sighed and lowered his head, trying to avoid the flashing green eyes. “I need Gaeric to mark your cloak, My Lady.” Gods, he couldn’t believe Davos was making him be the one to explain it to her. He was sure the silver-tongued old man would have had the thing done already.

 

“By mark, you mean _piddle_ , don’t you?” Huffed Dorna, folding her arms over her chest. “My uncle gave me that cloak and you want your wolf to piddle on it!”

 

 _Piddle?_ Samwell scrunched up his face. “You’re heading to the North, My Lady, better get used to talking proper. I’m going to let Gaeric _piss_ on your cloak.” She opened her mouth to berate him and Samwell cut her off. “ I’m going to wash it right after, My Lady. I promise you.” Samwell laid the cloak on the back of a chair. “You’re Southern born, My Lady. It’s dangerous to go walkin’ around the North. I’ve got to make you smell like part of the pack now.”

 

He watched the girl furrow her brow in thought, mouthing the words over again. Then she looked up at him with an accusatory glint her eye. “We’ve been on this ship for days and you still haven’t explained anything to me. Even the Queen has been distant and you…”He lips curled into a cruel frown that made Sam want to smile, but he held it in. “You’ve left me all alone and I deserve to have answers.”

 

The wooden hull creaked all around them, the fluttering of the wind and sails drifting in through the closed portholes. Sam ran a hand through his hair and then over his face, trying to decide how much he should tell her. He looked up eyeing the girl. She was partially right, she did deserve _some_ answers. “Ask what you want then, My Lady.”

 

“Start with why you need Gaeric to piss on my cloak.” Said Dorna sarcastically, though he could see how the tension began to ease out of her.

 

“As I said, you’re southern-born. So you need to smell like part of the pack.” Said Sam slowly. “If you were to wander off, smelling like the south, it’s likely you’d disappear into the wild and never return. The North protects it’s own and doesn’t take kindly to outsiders sneaking about. There’s been those that have found that out first hand.”

 

Dorna swallowed and an understanding lit her eyes. “There are more wolves, like Gaeric? They protect from spies and the such?”

 

“Not like Gaeric, he’s different, but yes there are more Direwolves and they have a keen sense of smell. They can tell quite a bit about a man just from their scent.” Answered Sam, not wanting to say more and scare the girl. In his rangings along the coasts, he’d come across more than one pile of bones secreted away by the brush or overgrowth.

 

“How is Gaeric different?” said Dorna quickly.

 

“Gaeric…”Sam paused gathering his thoughts and pursing his lips. “You ever heard of a skinchanger, a warg?”

 

Dorna let out a little gasp. “I’ve read about them, but arent’ they…”

 

“They’re real.” Said Sam, he gave her a kind smile. “Gaeric was once a man, we’ll more a boy, like me. I remember him from when I was little. His wolf was named Bloodsbone. There was an accident, don’t know the exact details, but Gaeric’s body died and he went into his wolf and stayed there.”

 

“That’s…”Dorna’s face scrunched up in thought, though it looked as if she’d smelled something quite strange. Then a look of horror passed over her face, perhaps she finally imagined the living tomb the man had found himself in. “That’s horrible.” She breathed out.

 

“Aye, it’s something all wargs are aware can happen,” Sam said. He leaned back in his seat, waiting for her next question.

 

Dorna looked up, green eyes shining brightly. “That’s what you are isn’t it, you’re a warg like Gaeric?”

 

Sam nodded slowly. _Not exactly like Gaeric_. “Yes.”

 

The next minute was almost completely full of questions from Dorna that she didn’t seem to take a breath to fire at him. Even when Sam tried to insert a simple yes or no into the stream, Dorna brushed aside his presence while she paced back and forth in front of him. Finally, she stopped and blushed slightly. “Sorry, I think I got ahead of myself.” Then her mouth split into a grin. “Can you teach me?”

 

“To be a warg?” laughed Sam. He shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, My Lady. It’s something you’re born into. Most of the wargs in the North have free folk blood, like me. Though there are some houses in the North that have them.”

 

“You have wilding blood?” said Dorna with surprise. “I thought you were the son of a Lord?”

 

“My mother and better get used to saying Freefolk, they don’t like being called Wildings.” Said Sam, though he left out the true nature of his birth. That conversation had been particularly hard on his father, especially so close after the death of mother, but it couldn’t be helped, he’d overheard a couple former brothers of Night’s watch with an interesting tale to tell about how father and mother had met. He shuddered internally, then looked over at the girl studying him. Perhaps she could understand better than most. “Anything else?” he mumbled.

 

Dorna came and sat next to him, twisting her hands in her lap. “What am I to do in the North?”

 

“I suspect,”Sam said, “you’ll join the other young ones in the fostering.”

 

She looked up at him questioningly.

 

“All boys and girls spend some time at Snow’s End learning under the eyes of the King. I did my fostering a few years back.” He reached out an patted her hand awkwardly. “It’s hard, but you’ll enjoy it. There’s no better way to learn about the North and its people. You’ll most likely make a friend or ten for life.” Thinking on it he realized they should use the few days left on the ship preparing her. He’d have to speak to Davos about it. “I’ll ask Ser Davos, but I should probably at least start you learning to hold a dagger, maybe even a short sword.”

 

“They teach girls to fight?”

 

“Aye,” Sam chuckled to himself. “Most dangerous women in the world live in the North.”

 

“What about learning?” Dorna said excitedly. Sam could see the wheels turning in her head. “Uncle always let me learn whatever I liked, but I know it is not seen a proper pursuit for most girls.”

 

“No one will stop you from leaning anything you wish, My Lady.” Said Sam with a true smile. “I’ll introduce you to my father, Lord Tarly. He’s has a great love for books and learning. He wanted to be a maester when he was younger, but had other things he needed to do. Now he oversees to the learning of the schalors at White Harbor when he isn’t with the king.”

 

“Your father is close to the King?” said Dorna eyebrows rising. “What’s he like? The queen speaks quite highly of him.”

 

Sam chuckled. “The King and my father were sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch together, that’s how they met. As for what he’s like? Well, I saw your southern king,” the face Dorna made had the hairs on Sam’s neck prickling. “who is as far from Jon Snow as I can imagine a man to be. I can’t imagine he’d saying anything like ‘I am your king’ or any such nonsense, everyone in the North knows he’s their King, he doesn’t even wear a crown.”

 

“Really?”

 

Sam nodded, lost in old memories of years not so long past. “My father is a great man, but he’s not much for martial pursuits or ranging across the countryside. I had a taste for such things as a young one. So when I was nine, I became the King’s steward.” He held up his hand to stop the stream of questions about to leave Dorna’s mouth. “ I brought his meals to his solar and changed his bedding. Kept his armor cleaned and oiled, things like that. He’s,” Sam smiled fondly. “He isn’t just my king, he more like an uncle, I suppose. He taught me things about being a lord. I’d go with him as he made his rounds about the kingdom, from one side to the next some years. I saw him dispense justice or preside over disputes. Though most of the time we might spend a few days plowin’ a field in a holdfast or sharin’ meals with simple folks.” One particular memory stuck out to him. “Once we came across this old crone with a wonky cartwheel.” He looked up at Dorna with a grin. “Can you imagine your southern king laying in the dirt cursing while he tried to grease an unwilling axel?” He watched Dorna giggle behind her hand. “That’s what a proper king does, Dorna, or at least it’s the way Jon Snow goes about it. He told me, most think being a Lord or a King is about having others do the work for you, but it’s actually the opposite. A King serves, he says, in whatever way is necessary.”

 

“Even if it means plowing a field?” said Dorna giggling.

 

“Aye.”

 

“He sounds wonderful.” Dorna said with a faraway look. Sam rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s not a soft man, My Lady.” Said Sam quietly. “He’s no southern prince with pretty ways.” _He’s a killer_ , Sam thought. He eyed the southern girl with her doe-eyed gaze, it was best to dispense with that as soon as possible. “He scared me once.”

 

Dorna glanced at him questioningly.

 

“The year before my fostering, we made a trip beyond the wall,” Sam smiled, “My first and I thought a white walker would march out of the wood at any moment, my head was so full of the stories of them.”He sighed. “Just me and the King and his two direwolves. Days spent riding through holdfasts and visiting the smaller settlements. At night we’d sit before the fire and he’d tell me stories about my dad and mum. It was a grand time really.” Sam frowned trying to figure out how best to tell her the next bit without upsetting her. “One day we came to a holdfast near the shivering sea. There had been a Dothraki that got it in his head he wanted to try farming and as he’d served well during the long night, the king granted him lands south of Hardhome. It was a good bit of land with a river that ran through it. Plenty of fish from the sea and fertile soil to plant corn and beans.” He swallowed. “When we got there though, the place was burnt to the ground, the fields too. We found…” He paused. “bodies in the yard. The Dothraki had a freefolk wife and babes.” Sam looked up at the girl. “It was them, dead.”

 

Dorna shuddered but didn’t say a word. Only stared at him wide-eyed. Sam shook his head.

 

“We’d had problems with raiders from IIben for years and with most of the direwolves in the woods south of the wall they could be troublesome. Father always said that though they’d not fought the war we did, the winter was bitter harsh to them that lived in those waters.”He swallowed. “The King guessed they might have used their longship to pole up the river, searching for richer holdfasts to raid. He told me to wait there. And I did,” Sam remembered the night drawing in, the way the noises of the forest and the rush of water seemed to call out the danger with every passed breath, he’d been scared beyond reason, alone in the land of his ancestors. “Until I couldn’t take being alone anymore, and the worry that the King might have ridden to his doom and I was left out there.” He remembered the reins held tight in his hands while he guided the palfrey slowly up the river, picking its way across the stones and around thick stands of trees. Then, after miles, he’d broken into a clearing and a marshy lagoon under the clear moonlight. “He must have caught them while they bedded down for the night,” Sam said quietly. He looked up and caught her eye, trying to make her understand. “There was near twenty of them, but…the King and his wolves.”

 

“He killed them?” Dorna whispered.

 

Sam nodded. “He was in the shallows of the river, cleaning his blade. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, but the look on his face was painful. He was so sad,” Sam shook his head. “ I’ll never forget his words and how he said them. ‘ _They had to understand.’_ ”

 

Dorna shuddered.

 

“He’s no southern knight, My Lady. The North is a hard place with a hard man to lead them.” Sam said nodding his head. “But he is a good king, I think.”

 

A yell from above them split the brief silence that followed. “ _Sail to larboard_!”

 

++++

 

It took a full turn of the glass for the ‘Silver Lady’ to become much more than a dot on the horizon. Soon the sails and hull were visible over the swell of waves, bouncing up their leeward side to meet them. Sam watched the Queen at the rail, her pale hair whipped in the sea air. She seemed transfixed on the ship warping up to meet them. Ser Davos came to her side and whispered things that she either nodded to or shook her head against. The sun was nearly gone and then while still miles away a bright dot swung into view against the Silver Lady’s shape and it began to blink.

 

Sam tried to keep up with the quick blinking and short gaps of darkness, but he’d need the codex book to truly understand the message. Davos on the other hand merely stared across the water towards the light, tapping his fingers in unison with the blinks and breaks. Finally, the old man sighed. “They have Lord Tollett, and a few of the Unsullied are with him.” He said. Sam watched him reach out and grab the queen elbow, directing her towards the stairs that would take them below decks. As they started down the steps, Sam clearly head Davos say. “Ser Jorah was injured and had to be left behind, Your Grace.”

 

++++

 

He shivered against the cold when his good eye cracked open. Laying on his side, all he could see was the roughly hewn rock and dirt of the cell floor. Jorah tried to brace his palm against the floor, but he was so weak, he didn’t have the strength in his arms to lift himself. All he could do was tremble it seemed. The _fever_ had gripped him. Fever meant death.

 

There were no windows in the cell, he had no idea if it was night or day. How long has it been, he wondered. Surely the queen was long away from the city by now. He remembered Edd’s face, there against the gate to the inner keep. The horror as the seconds ticked by and then how he’d pushed the man away. What use is a commander if he can’t even stand on his own while the world burns around him. It was better this way.

 

There was a jangling of keys and the door to the cell creaked open, a shadow passing through.

 

“Connington.” Croaked Jorah, his voice raw and dry while his breath brushed against the dirt. The Rooster stood over him for a moment, looking down with a frown clearly visible in the gloom.

 

“What have you done, Mormont?” whispered the Lord of the Stormlands.

 

“Set,” Jorah’s gasp of breath came painfully pushed out of his burning lungs. “things on the correct path.”

 

“The Queen is dead,” Connington growled out. “How is that setting things right?”

 

“How did she die?” Jorah wheezed.

 

“Wildfire, in the harbor. Fireships set the quay ablaze. The fish market is gone and the city bubbles with chaos thanks to your lot.”

 

“Wildfire?” chuckled Jorah, though the work pained him. He lifted his head and looked up at Connington. “Come, set this dying man to rights so that we might speak proper.”

 

He felt strong hands grip his tunic and lift him against the wall. The grinding of the bolt in his hip made him cry out. So they hadn’t pulled it from him. Jorah supposed a dying man didn’t need tending. Through the pain washed gaze, he saw Jon Connington kneel down to his level, eyes searching his own.

 

“Why would you risk your Queen’s life that way, Mormont?” Jon breathed, “It was all for naught and now she’s dead.” There was hurt in the Lord’s eyes, the fool.

 

“You really don’t know her, do you Conningtion.” Gasped Jorah. “Wildfire? A true dragon can’t be burnt. I was there when the dragons were birthed, their cries split the morning from the smoldering embers of their cradle.”

 

“What are you talking about, fool?” Connington growled gripping his tunic.

 

“You wanted her to be a cockless Rhaegar.” Whispered Jorah. “She’s more than that.” He shook his head and shivered against the stonework behind him. “You never tried to actually know her. All you could see was the shadow of your silver prince.” He watched the scowl grow over Connington’s face, but he pushed ahead. “I was like you in a way, friend. Wasn’t always honorable in my thought’s towards the queen, just like you and Rhaegar.”

 

The slap that followed made him chuckle and dribble blood down his chest. “Touched a nerve did I? I had to learn.” Jorah’s eyes widened. “I had to see.”

 

“See what?” Connington shook him and his head mindlessly bounced off the wall.

 

“Storm and Snow,” Jorah whispered. “Storm and Snow.” His mind cleared briefly and he looked at the man before him. “Twelves years you had to avoid this, now it’s too late for you and all the rest. Go to Storm’s End and wait for him to come. Maybe your death will be quick.”

 

“Who, Mormont?” hissed Connington.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” wheezed Jorah with a smile.

 

Jon Connington growled and let go of his tunic. Jorah slumped back against the wall and let go. Dying of fever wouldn’t be so bad he thought. He’d heard stories of men sinking into delirium and seeing their loved ones, that would be something at least. Maybe he’d see his father smile again or maybe he’d remember what his mother’s face looked like finally. He’d had wives and loves. No children of his own, but those he thought of as such. _Lyanna_. He smiled at the face that swam before him. All things worked out in the end.

 

From a distance, he felt the stab of pain between his ribs and he glanced down. The dagger was pushed to the hilt.

 

Connington rose and looked down at him sadly. “Could have been different between us, Mormont. I loved her in a way too. This is the best I can do for you.”

 

“No,” Jorah said, fading while he felt the blood pump out of him. “You still need to understand, cunt.”


	15. Daenerys And The Donkey Cart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tells a story and Daenerys arrives at Snow's End.

“Just say it then, Sam. I’m tired of havin’ you give me those fuckin’ sidelong looks.”

 

Samwell sighed and set his book on the rock next to him. Four long days in the saddle had eaten heavily into his reading time and played hells with his back. There were reasons he rarely followed Jon on these frequent rangings and the lack of a feather bed and library were two good ones. Jon had insisted this time though. So he found himself with his friend camped along the Last River, with the Lonely hills standing behind them like shadows in the night sky.

 

“It seems to me,” Sam started slowly, trying to figure out how best to tip toe through this particular swamp. “while you’re out here chasing after dragons, you’re really avoiding the one about to make landfall at the Weeping.” He watched Jon frown into the fire and while he’d grown used to those ice chips he had for eyes, they were always most eerie when they caught flames. As if they wished to reach out and touch the fire. “And, there are a hundred men back at Snow’s End who would be better fit to follow you up here. So, I figure what you really want is to talk.”

 

“A hundred men who would have a thousand questions about what we’re doin’.” Grumbled Jon, but he didn’t disagree with Sam, only stood up and turned the spitted rabbits over the fire. The two direwolves lifted their heads and eyed his movements hungrily.

 

“None of that you two.” Said Jon. He motioned his head at the wood beyond the fire. “Go find your own meal.” The two wolves slipped out of the firelight silent as living snow. Jon sighed and lips dropped into a frown. “I don’t know what to say to her, I don’t even know where to start.”

 

“At the beginning seems best to me.” Quipped Sam and was pleased when a small smile grew across Jon’s bearded face. “The queen isn’t an unreasonable woman, you being alive is proof enough of that.” That actually earned him a hearty laugh from the sullen King and a bit of the boy he’d met all those years ago shown on his face.

 

“Aye, maybe so.” Said Jon taking his seat again. “Though she is known to be stubborn.” He looked up at Sam, eyes shining. “You’ve heard the story of Daenerys and the donkey cart?”

 

Sam snorted. “A thousand times, you’d think half the North was there. Though, I admit, I’ve never heard it from your lips.” _Nor hardly anything about those days_ , if Sam was honest about it. For so many years it seemed the queen was nothing more than a small dragon figure set upon a map that Jon held in the palm of his hand from time to time.

 

“It was on the road to Moat Cailin,” Jon began quietly. “You remember what it was like Sam, measurable bunch we were then.” He shook his head. “I never thought I’d laugh again, not after Winterfell, much less feel any real happiness. Everything just seemed so..” Jon searched for the word. “black, dark, you know.”

 

Sam nodded. He remembered that march well. Thousands cold and half-starved as they sought to get away from the dead that remained. Snow for as far as a man could see and nary a whisper of greenery or game.

 

“Daenerys had flown ahead, meltin’ the snow upon the road.” Jon said, “I saw her comeback and land a ways behind me. So, I rode back down the line, tryin’ to encourage our people as I went, best I could anyway.” He was silent for a moment and Sam thought he might be lost into memories of those dark days and not come back for some time, but then a grin grew from the deep frown. “I found her on the track. There were some children, I’m not sure what happened to their folks, but they had this cart full of their belongin’s and it was bein’ pulled by this old grey donkey. When I got there, it seemed the donkey had decided he wasn’t goin’ to go a step further and Daenerys she…” laughter started bubbling up from Jon’s throat. “She’d decided she was goin’ to make that donkey move no matter what.”

 

Jon looked up at him and a rare true smile lit his face. “Can you imagine it, Sam? The queen of the fuckin’ Seven Kingdoms down on that muddy track pullin’ at the lead, not weightin’ more than a whisper. The donkey’s got his ears back, Daenerys has got her hackles up. A rare match those two.” He finished laughing.

 

Sam let out a chuckle.

 

“So I thought it was my duty as a king and a husband to get down there and help her. Oh gods, but she saw me start to dismount and she used that voice.”

 

“The one you liked so much?”

 

“Aye, it was. ‘ _Don’t you dare get off that horse, Jon Snow’_ she says.” Jon laughed “ _I’ve spent my life surround by asses and I’ll not be defeated the four-legged variety.’_ My queen had commanded me. So there we were, nobody is movin’ the whole line had stopped at that point and Daenerys is pulling on that lead and donkey is practically on his haunches not movin’ an inch. Then…” the laughter started bubbling again. “Here comes Clegane marchin’ from the back. He sees the cart and the donkey, but I don’t think he saw who was on the other end of that lead. He says’ _‘Fook this’_ and takes that slab of ham he called a hand and swatted the rump of that donkey so hard you could've heard it at the top the wall.”

 

Their joint laughter sent a startled flock of birds preparing to roost for the night, flying noisily to look for a quieter stand of trees.

 

“The donkey…”Jon said, trying to catch his breath. “Starts buckin’ and brayin’ his head off and shoots down the track. Cart bouncin’ and things flying out all over the fuckin’ road. Damn thing must’ve run for a quarter of a mile. And Dany she’s…”He gasped. “half buried in the snow bank. You wouldn’t have known she there at all if it wasn’t for how red her face was. Clegane, gods he was shocked, I think we all were. He marches over and grabs her by the arms and lifts her out of the show like a child. And fuck me if she didn’t curse him, Sam. Every member of his family tree, up one side and down the other.” Jon held up a trio of fingers. “In three different languages. I didn’t even know she knew half those words. Then she spins on her heal, wet braids flyin’ all over the place and stalks off.” Jon looked up and Sam could see he’d laughed so hard his eyes were a bit wet. “Clegane turns to me and growls out _‘Better you than me, Snow_.”

 

Still laughing Jon rose and turned the rabbits again. “Gods, she was a rare one.” He said quietly.

 

“There is no _was_ , Jon.” Said Sam. “She’s here, well nearly anyway.” The smile slipped from Jon’s face and he nodded silently. Sam pressed on. “If it was as simple as sendin’ men south to fetch my Gilly, there is no way I wouldn’t be there to meet her, Jon.”

 

They ate the rabbits in silence, both lost in thought it seemed, until Jon was dozing against his rock and Sam was lost in his book.

 

“Sam,” Jon said softly across the fire. “thank you.”

 

Sam nodded and watched Jon turn away from the fire, eyes closed.

 

“Don’t read that book all night, Sam. We leave for Snow’s End at first light.”

 

++++

 

 _Green_. That was the only way she could describe it. Her only memories of this land were snow covered and bleak, but as they pulled through the murky estuary, as far as she could see the cliffs were covered in a thick canopy of greenery. Tall trees with bright moss hanging from their limbs almost to the very shore. It was all she could do to not stand up in the shallow boat to get a better look. Her good sister must have seen her wonder and shot her with knowing smile.

 

“Strange isn’t it?” Arya said, quietly. “Must be like a whole other world.”

 

Daenerys nodded and her heart pumped powerfully in her chest when the boat touched the sand. Davos helped her through the surf and on to the narrow beach.

 

Long ago, in another life, she had a similar arrival on Dragonstone. For weeks aboard ship from Meereen, she wondered if she would feel something, some unknown connection to the land of her birth and ultimately, it had failed every expectation. It was empty, perhaps then it had been her that was empty.

 

But now, with the soft sea breeze tickling her braids and smell of the forest surrounding her, a very real moment of peace descended on her. It nearly overwhelmed her.

 

“Ser Davos,” Daenerys said quietly, “I believe, I’d like a moment.”

 

The old knight nodded with a kind smile and then shooed Arya and the others away, setting about pulling their things from the boat. She saw the Silver Lady had dropped anchor as well. Turning from the sea, she made her way across the beach, stepping over the driftwood and small rocks.

 

Home. Is that what she was feeling? Was this what it felt like to come to a place that held your heart? So many years in Kings Landing and it had seemed as empty as her heart had been, but a few steps across a barren beach and…there was something else.

 

It started at the base of her neck and spouted upward, sending a chill along the back of her skull and nestling, over the top and  behind her eyes…

 

There was a rustle in the brush before her and slow growl emerged. Daenerys took a step back in fright as the grey direwolf stepped out of the ferns, massive and with its hairs on end. Then as the wind shifted, the fire in its yellow eyes was snuffed out and a gentle whine escaped its throat. Daenerys held her ground as the wolf slowly padded towards her, she remembered watching Jon often with his Ghost and tried to do the same. She held out a hand and let the wolf smell her glove. Another whine answered her action and then the wolf had spun and run off into the underbrush again.

 

“Sorry, if she scared you.” Arya came up beside her. “That’s Visenya.”

 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at her. Her good sister laughed.

 

“She was always my favorite Targaryen, present company excluded of course, “She finished with a bow. “Visenya is my friend, I wouldn’t say she’s my wolf exactly, but we have an understanding. She likes to keep to herself unless I call her directly.”

 

Daenerys hummed in the back of her throat. She saw Dorna playing in the surf with the direwolf Gaeric splashing around her. “Are there many direwolves in the North now?”

 

“A fair few.” Arya shrugged. “Ghost had a busy time of it after the war, poor bugger.”

 

Daenerys laughed. “I should like to see him again.”

 

Arya froze and frowned at her. “Been a long time, Dany. Ghost had a good life, but he’s gone now, the old wolf couldn’t live forever. Jon he…”she chewed at her lip. “He took it pretty hard, I guess, but there’s plenty of his get to occupy us now.”

 

“I see,” Daenerys said quietly. It really had been a long time, nearly thirteen years now. The babies were all grown and old friends gone. She looked up and saw a familiar face approaching with a smile. “Is that little Ned Umber?”

 

“Your Grace.” The young man bowed and even then he’d barely sunk below her height. The last she’d seen of him, he’d been fresh-faced and nothing more than a slip of a boy following behind Jon where ever he went and now he looked like a giant with a sandy brown beard.

 

“Well met, Lord Umber,” Daenerys said with a soft smile. She glanced over and Edd Tollett was standing awkwardly, scowling at the ground. “Edd Tollett, I’m glad to see you well. What can you tell me about Ser Jorah?”

 

She watched the man fight with something inside of him then he blew out a breath. “He’d been shot through the hip with a bolt, Your Grace. We couldn’t get out of the keep and carry him too. I…”He looked up and she could see he felt the failure keenly. “I apologize, I know you were close.”

 

Daenerys swallowed thickly, trying to decide what frightened her most. That Jorah was most likely dead, or the burning in the pit of her stomach to lash out at anyone close by. She spun on her heel and walked up the beach without saying a word to any one of them.

 

 

++++

 

 

It had taken a hard night of riding, the cleansing fresh air and more than a few cooling words from Ser Davos to temper the angst she felt inside at the prospect of Jorah being gone. The searing heat she’d felt was dulled to a simmer, but it was still there, churning. Strange really, when she thought about it. When was the last time she’d felt such fire?

 

As they’d moved away from the wild coastline, it gave way to neatly kept farms and holdfasts and a rode that seemed carved across the land meant for fast travel. Still, the green lay before her, almost unnatural in its vibrancy. Where there weren’t uniform fields plowed for grain and greens, fields of heather and wildflowers fled towards the horizon. It was summer, _Jon’s summer_. The one they’d hoped for and with every mile that passed, the beauty she saw only heightened the deep sense of regret and to her surprise, jealousy.

 

“You’re awfully quiet, Your Grace.” Said Ser Davos, riding up beside her.

 

“I’m fine, Davos. I’m not going to break, I assure you.” She said, looking into the distance. There was a small hamlet off the road, just a huddle of buildings down in a narrow valley with thin curls of smoke rising over it. Daenerys yearned to go down and have a look at Jon’s people. What were they like now? What did they think of him and more importantly, what did they think of her?

 

Davos must have followed her gaze. “The North is full of little places like that now. Just people grown used to t’other and now they make their homes together.” He smiled fondly. “Strange place the North, Your Grace. We’re an odd bunch, you’ve got some folks that live in little growing towns and the like and then if you were to go a ways north.” He gestured with a hand. “There’s a proper Dothraki khaleesar that ranges between Last Hearth and Karhold.”

 

“Truly?” She followed the point of his finger half expecting to see her people come screaming over the top of the hill. “I should like to visit them, Davos.”

 

“You will, Your Grace, now that you’re home,” Davos said kindly. His eyes watered slightly and then as if to cover up the emotion he felt, he pulled a half-carved block of wood out of a pocket and began whittling away strips, right there in the saddle. It took her a moment to focus on the shape he was pulling from it.

 

“A dragon?” she said, feeling amusement flare inside.

 

“Aye, Your Grace. For a friend. I guess seeing you again has inspired me.” He laughed.

 

“If I had to take a guess, Ser Davos, I’d say you planned on gifting that to a sweetheart.” Daenerys teased him. Davos froze in his work and looked up with a strange glint in his eye.

 

“In a manner of speaking, Your Grace.”

 

++++

 

On the third day, she saw something that made her pause. Many things about this seemingly transformed land made her want to weep with pride, in her king, in herself and her people and what they’d done to preserve it. That was until she saw the man hanging from the tree by the side of the road. A wooden sign slung around his neck marked _‘Rapist’_.

 

It looked like he’d been there more than a week, flies eating away at this eyes, skin grey and purple, the stench of him wafting over them as they passed. Arya had come riding up the line, Missandei looking worried as she followed. Arya had pointed to the body with an order it was cut down.

 

“There’s no Night’s Watch now, Dany.” Said Arya, while she watched a shallow grave being dug a ways off the road. “Rape, murder, stealing…there’s only one punishment.”

 

“Surely he needn’t be displayed, Arya.” She said.

 

Arya ran an appraising eye over her, then slowly said. “Is it you don’t approve of such things, Dany? Because I've heard a story or two. Or is it my brother doing it you don’t understand?” She shrugged. “In truth, there isn’t much of it that goes on, but when it does.” She nodded to the tree. “It gets dealt with in a way folks see it’s not tolerated.”

 

 

++++

The trembling started when the banners were unfurled as the sun began to dip. A white direwolf with a single red eye against a black background, Jon’s sigil. They were in the king’s own holdings now, and everyone would be made aware they were on his business.

 

The whole group seemed to buzz with anticipation when the lights appeared on the horizon. They were almost home.

 

Daenerys could barely register the town they passed through, curious faces eyeing them as they passed. She could only stare up at the fortress rising up above her, it’s high walls lit with braziers on all four sides, illuminating and casting shadows on the grey stone. The Dreadfort had been little more than a black dot she few over a handful of times. A notorious place that men whispered was cursed and those that had lived there devils, but the Bolton’s were all gone now and only Jon's Snow’s End remained.  There didn’t seem to be much finery, not like the Red Keep, no coin wasted on gold leaf or pink marble. It was like Jon. It appeared useful, with a little scarring, but pretty in a northern way set against the hills.

 

“It’ll be a quiet meetin’, Your Grace,” Davos said hurriedly next to her as they neared the gates. Horns began to blow announcing their arrival. The gates pushed open and they entered the yard and Daenerys Targaryen saw a face she hadn’t seen in many years.

 

Sansa Stark.

 

++++

 

“That’ll be them,” Sam said quietly behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go down?”

 

“No, Sam.” Said Jon, he continued to stare blindly out of the window into the dark night. “See that she’s brought here, I’ll talk to her first thing. But I just…”He growled and shook his head. What was he a green boy scared of a girl? Not a girl, he thought, a dragon.

 

“I’ll see to it.” Sam slipped out of the solar, his footsteps fading down the hall.

 

Jon's heart was racing and he drew several breaths to try and calm himself. _Why do I feel as if I’m about to go into battle?_ He thought angrily. _Because you are, you stupid fool._

How many nights had he laid abed, thinking of a moment like this, trying to decipher what he might feel, what he might say? Too many to recall all of them. Twelve years he had to figure out a way to explain himself and now, when the moment had arrived, all of them seemed foolish. He could feel the weight of it on his chest. There really was no good way to say any of it, but it had to be done. It’s what he told himself over and over again as if it excused everything, as if somehow it justified the pain he’d cause not just Daenerys or himself. There was Wynafryd too. He didn’t even want to think about how to explain it to…

 

There was knock at the door and his summons was immediate, though for a brief crazed moment he thought about diving for the underside of his desk. _Fuck me._

 

“Come.” he called. He stayed where he was, facing the glazed glass, but it didn’t save him. The reflection betrayed him, Davos entered first and ushered in a small hooded figure. His grip on the window sill tightened beneath his gloved hands the wood creaking with stress, like the stress he felt in his lungs as he tried to steady his nerves. The figure pulled the hood back and she was there, distorted in the glaze but most certainly his silver-haired queen. He willed himself to move, turn, do anything other than being frozen as he was, but he couldn’t. Once he turned, it would be real and then everything would change.

 

The figure in the glass spoke.

 

“Am I your prisoner, Jon Snow?” The voice, by the gods, that pretty voice that used to shoot pleasant currents across his skin was still the same, like bells chiming in his very blood.  _Fuck me_. He felt himself smile, but only just. It took a growl and a slight shake of his head to realize what she had asked of him and there was only one answer he could truly give…

 

“ _Yes_.”


	16. The Stone Over Their Tomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice and fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the first conversation between Jon and Dany in almost 13 years. This is one fraught with confusion and anger. Questions answered and more raised. There will be a hell of a lot of you saying but, but, but. It will all come out eventually. We can't expect these two to talk about everything that's happened over the last twelve years in the span of one chapter. But they will eventually.

“Yes.”

 

The word dropped like a stone between them, cold and hard, growled out in Jon’s Northern rumble. Daenerys swallowed and stiffened under her cloak. The unbearable silence returned and the room was filled only with the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Her eyes ran over his back, trying to find some obvious change to the man she remembered. His black curls were pulled back tightly against his head, only a few wayward strands brushing the back of a high tunic jutting from his black gambeson. The shoulders were broad and heaving up and down while he breathed, harsh and heavy the same as her.

 

What had she expected, she didn’t know. She’d heard the stories of Baratheon years into his reign, southern lords laughing over the memories of a sad, disappointed king grown fat and sloppy with drink and whores. Is that what she’d expected? A slovenly Jon Snow grown round and lazy upon his throne? Obviously not.

 

“At least until the end of this argument.”

 

Daenerys broke out of her thoughts at the words. “Argument?”

 

She watched him nod his head slowly up and down, once. He made no move to turn, only stood facing the window, his breath she saw fogging the glass before him. “Is that why you’ve worn your armor, Jon Snow?” It had been an old jape between them. Daenerys often thought he slept in that old leather gambeson he’d worn, at least before she found otherwise for herself.

 

She heard him sniff and the side of one cheek appled slightly.

 

“An old habit, Queen.” He drawled, still not moving.

 

“So you’ve brought me the better part of two thousand miles to have an argument with your back?” she said slowly, watching him stiffen. Then she took a breath and said. “Arya told me about your eyes.”

 

“Tellin’ is one thing, seein’ is another.” His gloved hands bunched into fists on the window sill, the leather snapping in response.

 

Daenerys took a tentative step around the desk moving until she could see his hooded eyes in the reflection of the window head bowed and a familiar frown upon his pouty lips. “Let me see, Jon.”

 

The eyes rose slowly and Jon turned his head looking up. All the breath left her body in one go and then it was all she could do to not let out the scream she held inside. Those eyes, that unnatural blue of the other’s gazing at her across a snow covered lake or a dozen other times that seemed to be straight from the darkest nightmares. Her bottom lip trembled and let out three shaking breaths that matched his own.

“They’re only scars,” Jon said. The words came out of his mouth like he’d said it thousands upon thousands of times. Daenerys realized that he must of, especially to those who knew him before. “Been stabbed with dragonglass and everythin’.”

 

Ah, there he was. It took her a long time to fathom Jon’s peculiar way of delivering jokes, noticeable only by a slight crinkle to the brow, followed by a snort so quiet it was almost always missed. Sometimes he’d give it away with a smile so small you’d have to be within inches of him to see it. Inches, if she reached out, she might touch him. Her eyes passed over his face. The last time she’d seen Jon, he still had some look of a boy, though scarred. The years had hardened the boy into a man, worry lines that match her own beside his eyes and lips. The weight of rule was heavy for everyone.

 

 _You’re here in this room_ , she thought, _that is Jon Snow before you_. _What did you always promise yourself you would do if you saw him again?_ The fire ignited in her breast, hot and painful and before she could stop it her hand was moving.

 

The slap echoed and bounced off the walls.

 

“Where have you _been_?” Daenerys hissed, trembling, trying to stop herself from delivering a strike to his other cheek, but satisfied by the red bloom on his pale skin. “ _Twelve years_ , Jon! Twelve years you left me in that _fucking city_.”

 

She paced across the solar, mind racing and when she turned, Jon was wiping the back of a gloved hand across his lip. Her mother’s ring scratching a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth.

 

“Left _you_?” She could see him processing the words, shuffling through them and all they meant. He seemed to grow before her, his chest puffing out. “LEFT _YOU_!” He bellowed and Daenerys flinched but held her ground.

 

“I gave the North its i _ndependence_ , Jon. I gave you the freedom, the _time_ to come and fight for me and you left me there to rot!”

 

“You think,” Jon seethed taking a step towards her. “I didn’t want to come south and murder…”He growled in his throat, lips trembling. “ _All of them?_ ” She saw he was shaking, trying to control a rage she’d only seen a few times. “You think I didn’t want _justice_ for what they’d done to you?” He looked at her, eyes blazing, but there was so much unsaid in them. “You truly think I didn’t _care_?”

 

It was the way his voice choked on the word ‘care’ that finally broke her tears free, running silently down her face. She could only nod and then she saw tears form in Jon’s eyes.

 

“When I woke up at Moat Cailin, everything that was good in my life, had gone south Daenerys.” Jon took a shuddering breath. “And I didn’t even have time to mourn you.” He deflated, and shrank back, leaning against the desk behind him. “Freedom, independence?” She watched him swallow back his tears. “I would have traded all the freedom in the world, my throne, my own life…for a thimble of grain.” His lips hardened into a line and he looked at her with the anger returning. “You didn’t place us in the grave, but you sure as _fuck_ helped push the stone over our tomb.”

 

“What?” Daenerys gasped out, brow rising in confusion.

 

“They were starvin’, Dany,” Jon whispered and he looked over her shoulder at the wall behind her. “Our people were dyin’ by the dozens, _every day_. Boiled brown moss and worms at first and then leather and pebbles.” He swallowed thickly. “You ever seen a mother try and soften leather enough to feed to a little babe, because she’s too weak to make milk in her teats?”

 

“We were all starving, Jon.” She said quietly.

 

“Not like us,” Jon growled. “The south was uncomfortable at worst. The seas and streams still had fish, there was still grain to be found in pockets of the Reach.” His look was far away to some distant time. “We had to break through the ice at Widow’s Watch once the bite had thawed enough. Made for Braavos and the Iron Bank.” Jon sniffed. “And there I was with those money cunts lookin’ down their nose at me. You know what they called me?” He asked her quietly. Daenery shook her head. “ _Beggar King_. Never thought I feel sympathy for that fuck Viserys.”

 

“If I had known…”Daenerys started, but Jon laughed and shook his head.

 

“You think it stopped there?” Jon laughed harshly. “When the snows began to melt, the fevers rose up out of the swamps, filled with the corruption of death. Then it wasn’t dozens, but hundreds.” She watched him close his eyes briefly. “The Long Night didn’t end with that monster’s death, Queen, the day that followed was far worse.”

 

++++

 

“Here, drink this,” Jon said handing her the goblet. She took it with a trembling hand, still shaking from the story he told her. One of months tumbling into years of tireless work to build something that was nearly buried in death. She watched Jon lower himself into the chair opposite her and take a long drink off his own goblet. Daenerys tasted the wine he’d poured and found it strangely bittersweet, but fragrant and pleasing. “We make it ourselves now,” Jon said watching her reaction. “I’ll not have any of that Dornish piss in my kingdom.”

 

Even drowning in the cool dread of his tale, she still managed a small chuckle, then paused shaking her head.

 

“I still don’t understand, why didn’t you write to me?” She looked up and searched his face. “I would have done anything, Jon. They’re my people too.”

“Who said I didn’t write?” Jon said, eyeing her over the top of his goblet, he tossed it back in one throw and poured another. Daenerys mind was racing back over the years trying to remember some massive piece of information she’d obviously missed. She would have known, she should have known. Tyrion would have told her…

 

“Tyrion?” She hissed.

 

“The girl, Daenerys.” Jon nodded. “The Golden Company sacked the city, killed Cersei but the girl they left alone.”

 

“Dorna? But she was only a baby, weeks old.” She shook her head, she wouldn’t believe this line of thought Jon was leading her down, to think it true would change everything and she’d lost so much already.

 

“We both know they didn’t care for the lives of children. She was little more than a piece of meat and an extra mouth to feed for Strickland and his captains. She was spared for a reason, someone asked them too.”

 

Daenerys shot up out of her seat and paced in front of the hearth. No, it wasn’t true. She glanced over at Jon, this man, this _King_ was trying to manipulate her. Trying to twist his actions into the truth, but…She stopped, they had known, they had known from the first moment she came to the walls of King’s Landing.

 

“They were in the city,” she whispered to herself, quietly, following those painful memories of the days leading up to the last of her freedom. “They were like an infestation golden rats, every house, inn, brothel. You could see them when we marched up the Dragons’ Way.”

 

“There you were the Mother of Dragon’s with her two sons, the Mad King’s daughter and they knew from the moment you arrived that you wouldn’t burn that city to the ground with everyone in it,” Jon growled out. “ _They knew_.”

 

“The Golden Company had sacked the city _in my name_. Forced the people out on to the streets. The children, they kept to the buildings, I could see them in the windows as we went by.” The rage had been consuming, the dragon’s roared their fury from one end of the city to the other for days on end. Sixteen days. “I wanted to burn it to the ground, I wanted to break them, make them suffer, I wanted to do all the things I knew you would find shame in Jon.”

 

“ Aye, but you didn’t,” Jon said, watching her continue to pace back and forth. “I’m sure Lord Tyrion and Varys were terribly sorry it had to come to that, but you see, I had ruined their plans over and over again.”

 

Daenerys stopped her pacing and stared at him shaking. He was looking up at her with a small sad smile.

 

“Did I ever tell you, about the first conversation I had with Lord Tyrion?”

 

Daenerys shook her head silently.

 

“ _Never forget what you are bastard_ , he told me, _For the rest of the world will not_. I wasn’t fit to be your king, Daenerys, not in Tyrion’s eyes. How many others did he put before you? The Arryn boy, nothing but a child, but he had a name, didn’t he? My brother, Bran? Last living true-born son of Ned Stark, of course…”Jon gave a mirthless little chuckle in the back of his throat. “Then he met him and that wasn’t an option, was it?”

 

She heard the words, but the blood was rushing in her ears, a feeling burning through to her skin, rushing up to meet the room. With a hiss and growl, she pushed over a table next to the hearth, sending a pitcher of ale splashing over the stone floor. There was a map, with pieces laid over Westeros and those too went scattered to the floor. From far away she heard herself screaming and Jon’s voice over it.

 

“That’s right, Dragon Queen, feel that pain. Break the table, smash the chair, I’ve done it many times!” He was feeding her anger and something primal inside her roared its approval. Twelve years of frustration pent up. _Tyrion and Varys_. “It was always the plan, Queen.” Jon’s voice came calling again. “The Golden Company would take the Stormlands and King’s Landing.” She stalked over and grabbed a horned cup, smashing it on the wall. “Then you would marry Aegon.”

 

“Aegon!” she shouted, spinning towards him. “He was no _dragon_ nor King.”

 

“No, he wasn’t. But he looked like one, didn’t he. Varys and Illyrio had it planned for years and when it became apparent that you were determined to marry a bastard king, they brought Tyrion over to their side. After all, I didn’t have the birth, or the name, not even the look and don’t forget, I got his brother killed.”

 

“Jaime Lannister chose his death, his sacrifice saved thousands!” She screamed at him, unsure who she was angry at most. Everyone, the whole world. She paused. “Illyrio?”

 

Jon nodded slowly, coming to stand in front of her. “Where do you think I got that crown? He told me everythin’,” Jon smirked, “After some persuasion from my sister.”

 

Had it truly been going on that long? She knew Varys was associated with the Magister and Tyrion…” _Where_ , is Varys?” She had a promise to fulfill.

 

“Arya chased him halfway across Essos,” Jon said, he took a deep breath. “After that?” he shrugged and walked over to begin righting the tables, picking up the map pieces. He looked up kneeling on the ground. “So you see Dany when I showed up at Dragonstone, I ruined everythin’, they never expected you to be so fond of me.”

 

“Fond?” She chuckled and covered her face with her hand and found it sweaty, she looked at the moisture confusedly for a moment. When was the last time she’d felt warm?

 

“Aye, I always thought we got on pretty well,” Jon said, she could hear the teasing tone. He went silently about his work.

 

“I tried to tell them, Jon, I tried to explain.” She said, watching him. “They didn’t believe me, just as I hadn’t believed you. Thought it was merely a bad winter.”

 

“Aye, I know. I thought we were doin’ right by beatin’ him quick as we could.” Jon righted the table and began placing small figures across his map again.

 

“Then the Lords began to arrive, the High Septon, the Arch Maester. Tyrion he…”She tripped over the name and memory of her Hand now. “He said that if I kept talking about things that sounded mad, they would see me as mad. If I left, the world would fall apart. I was the only one who could stop it.”

 

“He was right,” Jon said, turning to her. “They were never going to let you leave, if you left, it meant war. War with the North, war amongst themselves. It was easier to have an unwilling queen than start killin’ each other. Funny thing that.”

 

“It was all for nothing wasn’t it.” She breathed.

 

“Nothin’?” Jon looked up at her his eyes narrowed. “Thirteen years of peace, Dany? You think you failed? That’s the longest Westeros had gone without a war in I don’t know how long, a century maybe.” He shook his head. “What did you think was goin’ to happen? Those southern lords, they always want more. More land, more gold, more power. You didn’t fail anyone and certainly not me or the North.”

 

Daenerys blew out a shuddering breath. Trying to find the truth in those words. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had failed in what she meant to do.

 

“I heard about the children,” Jon said quietly. “That must have been hard to see.”

 

“Hard to see?” Daenerys scoffed. She trembled at the memory. “I didn’t want to stay in the city, I didn’t trust them, any of them. We camped outside the city walls and when I woke that first morning, there a boy of no more than six slung over the ramparts, with a noose around his neck” Her lips trembled. “The next day there were two and the following three. Even the dragons were no help to stop it.”

 

“Sixteen days you held out, Daenerys.”

 

“Angry doesn’t begin to describe what I felt, Jon,” she growled. “It was them, those little ones you always said you were trying to save to make sure they drew breath. And I was letting them die because I couldn’t let you go. I thought that if I agreed it would stop, that I would find a way to take back the control, push them out, maybe turn the Martells to my side…but the Golden Company stayed for months, holed up in the city eating our food, eating away at the coffers, and my sons…”

 

“You did the right thing, though, the only thing you could do.” Jon walked to his desk, pulling open a drawer and removed a yellowed scroll. He held it up and smiled at her sadly. “And you wrote the only thing needed to be said to make me understand why you did it.”

 

“I too can take a knife in the heart for my people, Jon Snow.” She whispered, staring at the scroll, remembering how her hand trembled as she wrote that short note, before handing it to Sansa and watching her ride away. She looked up at him. “I didn’t even know if you were alive when I wrote that. Not until months later, it was…”She frowned. “Varys that told me…”

 

“I hadn’t found all of his little birds yet, I was too busy tryin’ to survive.” Jon snorted. “ They got easier to find the hungrier they got. Guess he didn’t mention what a fuckin’ mess we were in.”

 

“That’s why he left isn’t it?” She said, suddenly understanding why Varys had decided to head to Essos.

 

“The letters stopped arrivin’,” Jon said with a shrug. “guess he figured I knew somethin’. In truth that was a mistake, one I learned from. I should have let the letters continue.”

 

Daenerys blew out an angry breath. All that time, all those years and even the people she had thought were the most loyal had betrayed her. She could feel it burning in her chest.

 

“Why did you leave?” Jon said, breaking into her thoughts.

 

“You know why.” She muttered and walked to the window, trying to avoid his strong gaze.

 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit you told Davos. That you told yourself.” Jon said.

 

“It was my birthright.” She turned sharply to him, showing him with her eyes the truth of it, but Jon only grimaced at her.

 

“Your _birthright_?” Jon sneered, he drew a long elaborate breath into his lungs and let it out through his mouth. “That’s your birthright. Breath, life, same as me, same as everyone. It’s got nothin’ to do with blood or names. If you were a queen it’s because you were meant to be by you the strength your _will_. So why did that will fail you when you were sitting by my bedside!”

 

“I was scared, Jon!” She snapped at him. “You don’t know. There you were hanging between life and death. All I could do was pray to gods I didn’t believe in to see you safe and I…” How could she explain it? The hurt, the fear. Fear of choices she made before that might be laid out before her to choose again.

 

“You were afraid you might have to put a pillow over my face?” Jon said dryly.

 

“Yes, Jon.” She cried. “Say what you will about my affection for Drogo. He was not my choice, my love for him was not born of truth. Not like _you_. But that doesn’t mean it was easy to see him suffer and I thought.” She drew a breath. “That witch was cursing me from the grave and now I was going to lose you too. I couldn’t trust myself with that pain, I couldn’t do nothing. So when Varys told me what was happening in the south…”

 

“You took the opportunity and left.”

 

“Not for good. I thought I could go and secure the throne. I never expected to stay for all these years. Never.” He had to believe that. He had to understand that thrones and crowns were little in compare to the sense of peace he had blessed her with. “You were my family Jon, the only true one I’ve ever had was with you.”

 

“Aye, I was.” He murmured. She watched him working his jowls, grinding his teeth. He had always done that when something was tearing up his insides. “You’ve never believed much in gods, but what do you think of fate?”

 

“Fate?”

 

“Aye.” She watched him flexing his hand, it shook slightly in its glove and he smoothed down the sides of his gambeson while he looked everywhere in the room but at her. “What did Arya tell you about Wynafryd?”

 

Daenerys felt as if she was dipped in icy water. _No_. “The last thing I want to do is talk about your queen and fate in the same conversation, Jon Snow.”

 

“I already had a _queen_.” Jon snapped. The anger was so quick and hot she could almost feel it brush over her. “I didn’t need another one.” He growled and turned around. “Eight years, Daenerys, I was happy to be alone. I had my sisters and Rodric, I had Sam and little Sam, Davos. I didn’t need another woman in my life to make a mess of things.” He swung in her direction. “Do you understand the kind of pain, the poison it is to pray to the gods that a man fucks a baby into his wife to keep her safe?”

 

“What?” It was as if his train of thought had gone one way and his mind the other.

 

“Fate, Dany!” He cried. “Beric once told me that death was the true enemy, the first and the last, but _fate_ is the cruelest of them all and it’s been trying to fuck me since the day I was born. Same as you.”

 

“I don’t understand.” She breathed out.

 

Jon was breathing heavily, he pushed hands to the back of his head and ground out a terrible shriek that came from his chest. He was fighting something. His teeth clenched tight in a grimace, eyes closed. Then they opened and he calmed.

 

“We were on our way back from IIben. We’d had issues for years and I’d grown tired of dealing with it…a storm blew in, whipping across the northern sea. Gods.” He shook his head. “Even Davos was shittin’ himself.” Jon sighed and bit his lip. “I wasn’t afraid of death, it had no hold over me, but…”He looked up, eyes pleading. “My house Dany, what about my _house_?”

 

“A King needs heirs, Jon,” Daenerys said quietly. It was an ache so deep she couldn’t even name how far it was buried in her. But she knew, Jon Snow had earned a son of his own. It was something she’d once wished she could give herself.

 

“I didn’t, I had Rodric.”

 

She looked up at him, brow curling in confusion.

 

He shook his head sadly and growled in frustration. “There were four women in all of the North anointed in the Seven. Two of them were my sisters.”

 

“So you married a Manderly and made her your queen.” She whispered.

 

“I married a Manderly and made her my _wife_ in front of the new gods, but I already _had_ a queen!” Jon shouted at her. He tried to calm himself, but it didn’t seem to take. “I said the words, same as you. _From this day until the end of my days_. But she would remain a _Lady_.” His voice calmed but his breathing did not. “It was a compromise, she wouldn’t hold the title, but any… _issue_ we had, would sit the Winter Throne as my heir.”

 

 _And did you?_ The words stuck in her throat, but they rang in her head.

 

“Fate, Dany!” He seethed again. “You think I blamed you?” He asked her, shouted at her. “You think I was angry with you? I couldn’t be! All of it. All the shit, the pain, the years wasted we didn’t share _were my fault!_ ” Even the room seemed to shake under Jon Snow’s angry admission, the windows vibrated while he called out. “I was a coward! I was a craven fool who couldn’t face what the world wanted of him. All of it, it was me. My fault, my shame! Fate demanded and I shrunk away from my duty. You suffered for it and Wynafryd died!”

 

The breath caught in Daenerys throat. Arya had said she passed, but this visceral reaction from Jon was something other.

 

“She walked down this very hall.” Jon pointed towards the door. “Up the stairs and out on to the ramparts.” His breath caught briefly. “Then threw herself into the river below. They didn’t find her for days after, miles downriver.” His rage was palpable on his tongue, it was an unnatural thing, something raw and unreasonable. “She died for the same reason you were chained in the south because I couldn’t accept the secrets I kept and then it was too late for secrets and fate fucked me again!”

 

“I don’t understand, Jon.” Daenerys hissed. “Tell me and be done with it.”

 

He looked up at her, fright written all over his face. “No, Dany. I will show you.”

 

++++

 

She followed him out of the solar, mind buzzing with confusion and anger, so many things were whirling inside her it was hard to know what to feel first. Jon led them down a stairwell and around a tight corner, they came to a corridor with a single door at the end. Two silent guards were waiting on either side of it under the dim light from the torches that graced the wall. They wore a soft doublet of black leather, Jon’s sigil embossed on one shoulder.

 

“Khaleesi,” Murmured one of them as they passed through the door and when she caught the black eyes, they were filled with wonder. An unsullied she realized, but before she could stop and ask the man’s name Jon had lightly gripped her elbow and led her through the door.

 

They were in a small open-air courtyard, the cool night breeze rustled the leaves of a large tree growing in the center and the scent of lemons caught her in her nostrils. A path led them around the tree, stone benches and statues standing sentinel in the shadows as they passed. Jon moved silence, heavy footsteps knocking against the stone path. He led them to another door and at this one he paused, hand on the latch. Daenerys saw him take a shaking breath and then he pushed the door open, soft light spilling into the night.

 

There was a fire in the hearth and before it sat an old woman in a chair snoring softly.

 

“Nurse.” Jon rumbled, and the woman shot up out of the chair staring at both of them in surprise.

 

“Your Grace.” She said, “I didn't know you was comin'.” The old woman's eyes found Daenerys standing just behind Jon and they widened in shock. She gave an awkward curtsey to her. “My queen.” The old woman breathed.

 

“Go and find your bed, for now, Nurse. I will call you if I have a need.” Jon bit out. The words were not unkind, but Daenerys could hear the tight leash he had on his emotions. Her eyes followed the old woman as she slipped past her and out the door. Jon stepped aside and there was a bed in the corner of the room with a large mound laying on it. The mound moved and Daenerys was staring into the eyes of a large direwolf with glistening yellow eyes, the wolf whined and it was answered by a second rustle from the foot of the bed, another wolf raised its head, blues eye caught in the light from a candle set upon a small table next to the bed.

 

Wood carvings covered its surface. Wolves of every shape and size, sitting, snarling, running in a frozen gate. Birds of every variety in flight and fish that appeared to leap out of the table itself. _Davos_ , she knew.

 

“Grenn.” Jon muttered and the wolf on the bed carefully stood and gingerly slipped to the floor, leaving only a small shape buried in the downy covers. She looked questioningly over at Jon and found him sliding down the wall, lips shaking as he tried to speak. “Go on then,” He whispered from the floor, his arms coming to rest across his knees.

 

She looked back to the bed in trepidation. She knew what was there. Eight years had gone by and then Jon Snow got married and she _knew_. Fear gripped her as she a step towards the bed and then fell completely to her knees when light from a large window cut in the ceiling caught what was splayed across the pillow.

 

A field of bright silver hair, nearly invisible in the moon glow and white of the pillow.

 

She must have sobbed, she didn’t know for sure, but something startled the little girl in the bed and she turned sharply towards her. Blurry gaze cracked briefly and the light from the candle made the thin split of her eyes blaze a purple so deep it might have been her imagination. Until the eyes opened further and Daenerys was lost in a heaving misery at the bedside as the tears broke uncontrollably and shook her.

 

Through her tears, she saw the girl sit up and push the rush of silver hair from her face, indigo eyes blinking before small hands rubbed them. The child looked at her unseeing for a moment and then saw Jon slumped against the wall beside the Daenerys. She pushed the covers away and then little thin legs swung over the side of the bed, pushing herself onto the floor and falling into Jon’s lap.

 

Daenerys watched Jon Snow smooth down the child’s hair with a gloved hand, his own blue gaze staring at her, then he broke and sobbed out. “I’m sorry, Dany.” He buried his face in the silver hair and shook with silent tears.

 

What was she to say, what was she to think. She was staring at a wish come true and yet…it was all _wrong_.

 

“Who is she, Jon?” Daenerys pushed out through her own sobbing, still coming in waves. Then when Jon looked up at her, face red and streaked with tears, she tried to search it and find the truth that couldn’t be. “Who are _you_?”


	17. What Better Name For A King?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the second part of the 'reveal', hope you enjoy it. Kudos to those that guessed the little dragon's name, I gave her the only one that made sense under the circumstances.

It was as if they’d reached someplace where time and dreams interceded and ran in either direction. Running screaming against memories that were both real and imagined. Where she’d never gone to King’s Landing. Where a miracle had happened and now she was seeing the fruit of hope made real sitting in Jon Snow’s lap. It wasn’t real though, she knew that. It couldn’t be. Any moment she would wake, staring up at her canopy in her chambers in the Red Keep, trapped in a hell of her own design with Jorah alive and Jon Snow the man she’d imagined.

 

Just as she knew Jorah was dead, deep inside her, from a place rising like bile in her throat, Daenerys knew Jon was not who she thought him to be. It cracked something in her, a fissure in the very fabric of who she’d been and who she might be again.

 

“Who _are_ you, Jon?” She repeated, stronger, louder, making the little girl shift in his lap and silently lift a hand to play in the whiskers of his beard. The little woolen shift the girl was wearing had ridden up above her knees and Jon automatically pulled it back down with a practiced hand, tucking it under her. He shifted silently, using a hand to hold his weight as he stood. Small arms snaked around his neck and he had to whisper into a tiny well-shaped ear before they would release and allow him to lay her back into the bed.

 

“Not here,” Jon said quietly, while he pulled the covers up over her small shape and pushed the silver curls out of the little ones face. A face marked with a delicate nose, a familiar pouty mouth, and red-rounded cheeks. She was Jon made small and soft, even her hair was Jon’s, though the opposite shade; the silver princess of the north. “Grenn.” He said softly and the white wolf eased up onto the bed again and laid down next to the girl, one eye open and staring at the door.

 

Daenerys watched him rub his hands over his face, shaking his head, maybe trying to clear it. He turned and his eyes were red but dry, he nodded absently, eyes running over her own face. With a smile he said. “We must look a fright.”

 

“This isn’t a time for jokes, Jon Snow.” She hissed at him.

 

“It’s not a joke, it’s the truth.” He stepped towards the door, calling over his shoulder. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

 

She could do nothing but follow him. Turning her head back for a moment to stare at the bundled girl on the bed, heart beating out of rhythm. Daenerys shook her head and plunged out into the courtyard, into the cool air, trying to calm the thoughts storming in her head. That child should not be _possible_.

 

Instead of striding across the courtyard, Jon took a torch from the inner wall and lit a brazier in front of the lemon tree. Flames shot shadows along the walls and illuminated a pair of statues beside a stone bench near the overhanging branches. A man and a woman face's blackened by fire.

 

“Found them in the rumble.” Said Jon quietly. He motioned toward the statue of the man. “Eddard Stark,” Then the woman, “his sister, Lyanna.”

 

“You’re Aunt?” Daenerys breathed quietly. The woman they said her brother Rhaegar raped and murdered. She saw Jon nod, silently staring up at the statues. He lowered himself onto the stone bench, motioning for her to take a seat next to him.

 

“Growin’ up,” Jon started quietly, “I knew, everyone knew, Ned Stark was the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. His only stain,” he lifted a hand to his breast. “was me.” Jon growled and shook his head. “I tried to make somethin’ of my life because my birth cost him so much.”

 

“Jon…” she started with a sigh, but he cut her off.

 

“It’s the truth, Daenerys,” Jon bit out. “there’s no reason to deny it. I was thankful for my place in his household, the family he allowed me. Gods know it was a mile better than your shit childhood.”

 

“You learn a lot about life shivering on a rooftop,” Daenerys said quietly.

 

Jon nodded absently as if he’d heard, but he looked lost in memories. His lip quivered as he took a breath. “The last time I ever saw him, he was going south and I was going north to the wall.” He nodded to the statue of Ned Stark. “I was a man,” he let out a light chuckle “or nearly. I thought I deserved to know, so I asked him straight out. Does she know about me, does she know where I’m goin’, does she care?”

 

“Your mother?” Daenerys asked.

 

“Aye,” he shook his head. “ said we’d talk about my mother next time he saw me, he promised.” Jon flexed his jowls, “ I thought maybe it was painful, I suppose it was. But,” Jon suddenly stood and paced to the statue, “what was it Eddard? Couldn’t stomach hurting the feelings of your cunt king?” He spun towards her. “Don’t you see? The next time he saw me I would have sworn my life to the watch, my life would have been _safe_! But so would his king that fat fuck Baratheon, the first cuckold of the realm!”

 

“What does Robert Baratheon have to do with your mother, Jon?” Daenerys hissed, rising from her seat on the bench. A feeling was starting to come over her, one that would be hard to shake.

 

“Everythin’!” Jon shouted at her “ If it wasn’t for him…”He growled and pulled at his hair. “We can’t have this conversation here, we’ll wake up, Egg.”

 

“Egg?” said Daenerys starting to follow, but throwing a look towards the door across the courtyard.

“Aye, that’s how she’s known 'round the keep.” Jon snorted lightly. “Arya’s smart fuckin’ mouth. Calls her my little dragon _egg_.”

 

She reached out and grabbed his forearm strongly, squeezing with a strength she didn’t feel. Jon turned to her slightly, looking down at her hand and then catching her eyes. He sighed.

 

“Her given name is Alysanne.”

 

++++

 

She swept into his solar and made straight for the pitcher of wine they’d left half finished. She felt the weight of Jon’s gaze watching her drink down one goblet and fill it again, nearly finishing that one as well. She gripped the goblet in her hand. “Tell me.”

 

“I was born in Dorne.” He said quietly behind her. “Towards the end of the Rebellion. Lord Eddard found me there, my mother was dyin’ of a fever.”

 

 _Eddard Stark, Ned Stark, Lord Eddard_ … “You haven’t called him _father_ , Jon.”

 

“Aye, 'cause he’s not my father.”

 

The room went very still, neither of them moving, the goblet was paused halfway towards Daenerys mouth, which was open. She took a shuddered breath then spilled the wine into her mouth trying to purchase the time until the next question must pass her lips, but Jon spoke first.

 

“It wasn’t even much of secret really, the whole realm knew the story of how Ned Stark went south and came back with two things.” He paused and took a deep breath. “The bones of his sister and a bastard son.”

 

_The bones of his sister…_

 

“Lyanna?” Daenerys gasped. Suddenly pieces of Jon began to fall into place. She looked up at him slowly, she was shaking. He couldn’t mean...but then that would mean. “ _Rhaegar_.”

 

“Your dragon knew before I did. I didn’t know until we’d reached Winterfell, Bran told me.” Said Jon, he flinched when the goblet hit him the chest and the wine dribbled down his gambeson.

 

“It’s not true!” Daenerys shouted at him. “I know it isn’t because you wouldn’t have kept that from me. Not _that_.” It was madness. All the things she’d hope for in life paled next to the hope of a true family, to be surrounded by her blood. To restore her house to its former glory and here was Jon Snow, her king, and husband saying she already had and failed at it because she hadn’t known the _truth_.

“Of course I kept it from you!” Jon seethed back, just as angry, with just as much fire. “It would have changed everythin’ between us and I couldn’t allow that.”

 

“Changed what?” she growled. “Were you…”Daenerys paused, she straightened and flared her nostrils, eyes narrowed. “Ashamed we shared blood? That you’re my,” she wanted to choke down the word because it wasn’t at all what Jon Snow was. “My bastard nephew,” her throat bobbed wildly at the next words. “born of rape?”

 

“No,” Jon said shaking his head. “Not ashamed, not rape and it was Eddard Stark that made me a bastard, not my birth.”

 

“Then…”The longer this conversation went on the further she seemed to misunderstand the details. What was he trying to tell her? “The truth, Jon, all of it.”

 

“I am not _Jon_!” He stalked past her and gripped the top of his desk, stilled for a moment and then with a heave turned the desk and all of its contents onto its side. The chair clattered against the wall, the papers piled in neat order a moment before fell like a waterfall to the floor and Jon snow continued to rage, beating an angry fist on his chest. “I may have lived as Jon Snow the Bastard of Winterfell, but I was born _Aegon_ of House Targaryen.”

 

“Aegon,” Daenerys gasp, it sent a chilled descending over her skin and a memory from long before, far away in another land. “What better name for a king?”

 

“Who told you that?” Jon growled swinging his gaze her direction, blue eyes burning with curiosity.

 

“My brother,” Daenerys said absently, picturing the face of the tall silver-haired man with deep indigo eyes. “I saw him in a vision in Qarth. He was speaking to a woman with dark hair nursing a little babe. _He is the Prince who was promised_ , he said, _his is the song of ice and fire._ ”

 

“Not _song_ ,” Jon whispered, he walked over and righted the desk, muttering a distracted ‘fucking hell’ under his breath looking at the papers and scrolls littered all over the floor. He looked up at her sadly. “It was the _Son_ of Ice and Fire.” He lifted his hand and slowly pulled the glove off his right hand, Daenerys gasped when she saw the blackened fingers, she remembered the bandage that had hidden the ruined claw. “I think it had somethin’ to do with this.”

 

“How do you know that, Jon?” _Or was it Aegon, now?_ She reached out tentatively and lightly brushed the black fingers when Jon offered them to her. At her touch, he gasped and drew his hand back. She tried to ignore the hurt, but it was there, even amongst the confusion and pain.

 

“Rhaegar wrote letters to Maester Aemon at Castle Black. Edd found them while doin’ some rebuildin’. Passed them along in case they were important.” Jon said slowly, then a sneer widened on his face. “Rhaegar was _obsessed_ with prophecy. He thought there was powerful magic in the northern blood and fulfilling the Pact of Ice and Fire would release it.”

 

“You?” Daenerys whispered.

 

Jon nodded, his eyes downcast. “Bran told me they loved each other, but in the beginin’ my mother was just a tool, and I was his creation.” He looked up and sadly shook his head. “Guess I’m no different really. I suppose I got surprised like he did.”

 

“You fell in love?” Daenerys said she could help the stab of hurt that bit at her heart.

 

“Not with Wynafryd,” Jon said bit quickly, tears welled in his eyes. “For years I prayed to the old gods to give you the babe you deserved. So that you might be safe until I could come and fetch you. You have to believe that.”

 

“It was unlikely, even if I could bear children.” She said, shaking her head at Jon’s searching look. That would have to be left for another time.

 

“The dragon must have three heads, Dany. There must be one more.” Jon said, frowning at the thought of it. “I was unwilling to believe that it should be left up to me alone when all I wanted was you, but then I almost drowned and…”

 

“You did your duty to our house.” The word ' _our'_ brought a flame of pride where she would expect only pain. Her storied family was legend and here two dragons stood again, with an egg asleep down the stairs. It brought fresh tears streaming down her face, but this time they were shed in hope.

 

“I needed to at least keep the line of the Dragonriders safe, even if it meant my own hurt. I thought I could hide it as it had been done before…”He let out a chuckle. “Eddard Stark was luckier than I was. I never expected her to look like that.”

 

“Oh gods, Jon.” Daenerys gasped. “Did she know? Didn’t you tell her?”

 

“No one knew, only Sam because he was there when Bran told _me._  I didn’t even tell my sisters.” His eyes were lost in misery. “All I could do was reassure her, tell her it wasn’t her doin’, but….”Jon sighed and leaned back against the desk. “Wolken said it was a birth specter or somethin’ like that, said some women settle into a gloom once the child leaves their womb. Wynafryd couldn’t even look at her, must less nurse her. But I knew why she didn’t leave the birthin’ bed until she threw herself off those ramparts. It was all my doin’ because I couldn’t bring myself to say the words until I’d said them to you.”

 

“She deserved to _know_ , Jon,” Daenerys growled at him.

 

“Aye, maybe she did.” He whispered with a sigh.

 

She couldn’t but help feel the pain of Wynafryd Manderly, bearing a child to love and then nothing but fear that she’d somehow brought a curse into the world. A child with the coloring of the woman her husband craved. Daenerys tried to hold the anger in, but it hurt too much. “What was your _plan_ , Jon? What would you even do with the child, with the wife? What was your plan for me even if you could come and fetch me, as you said, like I’m some sort of horse you've misplaced in a field somewhere!”

 

“I don’t know!” Jon shouted at her, then deflated immediately. “I don’t know. Have a serious conversation with my honor, I suppose. Or sent you to Essos until the wars were won or kept you in this keep and never let you out of my sight again for fear you’d disappear like smoke in the wind. _I don’t know._ ” He was shaking visibly, arms held tightly against his sides fists clenched. “To my shame, it is not something I need think on much, not anymore.”

 

Daenerys growled at him, wanting to strike him again, it was reckless beyond imagining. Yet, could she blame him entirely? She shook her head and tried to hold on to the anger that was trying to wriggle out of her clasp. Jon Snow, or Aegon, whichever deserved someone to be angry at him. Then he spoke behind her.

 

“Fate, Dany.” He said quietly. “She was so small.”

 

She turned and found him staring at his empty hands as if he held a little child there still. He looked up at her with unseeing eyes.

 

“Soon as I saw her, I knew. I knew what I had to do. No matter what I did, she would never be safe.” The blue eyes focused and Jon was looking at her with a face hardening with each passing moment. “Someday she would have to go out into the world, and I knew I couldn’t leave it as it was to receive her. Her coloring, her eyes, her blood, made her a princess like you. But it made her a prize as well. They would come for her eventually and try to play their fuckin' games. I’ll kill every lord in the south before I let that happen.”

 

“What are you going to do, Jon?” Daenerys gasped.

 

“They like their games, Dany.” Jon snorted. “So I've devised a little game of my own. Kings Landin’, Oldtown, Maidenpool, Lannisport.” He listed, smiling at the last. “I wrecked their shippin', killed their people,  and set fire to their ports.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I even killed their queen and destroyed that fuckin' throne. Do you know what they're doing, _right now?_ ”

 

Daenerys was shaking with…something, it wasn’t rage nor fear, it was as if she was seeing the man beneath and it excited her very blood.

 

“You think they’re callin’ for my head? No.” Jon shook his head. “They’re getting ready to fight each other for a chair that doesn’t exist anymore. For a kingdom that they can’t hold together. An Aegon built the Seven Kingdoms and an _Aegon_ will tear it to pieces. When they’re done fightin’ each other, I will set my stone against the wheel and grind the south into dust, before your fate, becomes Alysanne’s.”

 

His words sunk into her, cold and harsh, but cased in fire. _Fire and Blood_ was what he was offering their enemies. No matter what she might feel in the next moment for all the things she’d learned, Daenerys still said the words that first came to her mouth.

 

“You will not do it alone, Jon.” She vowed. “We will do it _together_ , as we did before.”


	18. Southern Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces move across the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really just wanted to get us out of that emotional mess of the last two chapters. When I say US, I guess I mean ME. Anyway, just a short chapter while we check in on the south. We'll go back to our favorites in the next chapter.
> 
> P.S. The begining of this chapter is my attempt to show a small folk accent in King's Landing, it might take a minute to get used to, but eh, lets have some fun.

It started on the Street of Flour.

 

The notice for the curfew from dawn to dusk had been shouted by criers in the King’s square, starting in the early hours of the morning and well past dark, even as the streets emptied and only the city watch in their gold cloaks were seen marching in pairs on the major thoroughfares, but they couldn’t be everywhere. Though, they did make sure to keep a few men at the granary near the Guildhall of the Golden bakers, it still didn’t stop the meeting from taking place, each baker pushed a copper into a gold cloaks hand as they passed down the narrow alley and into the dimly lit hall already smelling of drink and the sweat of idle men.

 

“It's rations then!” Shouted someone near the back and the growls that rose with him only steeled the nerves of Olyvr, he swallowed down his remaining mug of frothy ale and stood, signaling with his hands trying to wave the voices down. Slowly the faces turned towards him and the hall was mostly silent except for the unrelenting angry snarls.

 

“Aye,” said Olyvr. “Commander ‘o the city watch ‘imself came down this way 'n said until further notice all stores of grain 'n flour were to be rationed by the watch and royal decree. I think we all know what tha’ means.”

 

“Royal decree? Who’s the _royal_ this time!” shouted Old Harry from just in front of Olyvr. “ We all know rations means starvin’ 'n no commerce, are we to let our business flag because tha’ Martell cunt don’t know nothin’ bout nothin’ save for hidin’ in the fookin’ keep?” Old Harry stood so his brother bakers could see him. “I ‘ad no ill will to the queen ‘erself, seemed like a good woman 'n we had peace 'n good business these years.”

 

“Aye.” Came the replies and Old Harry trudged on.

 

“It’s been a month since the fires in the docks 'n ‘as anythin’ been done to clear the ‘arbor? Seems plenty o’ time to get grain from the Reach or the Riverlands.” Old Harry spit on the floor. “An nothin’!”

 

The yelling started again and Olyvr knew getting angry would see them to no end. He called for their attention. “My brothers,” he shouted. “ My brothers!” he cried again, this time pounding his fist on the table to catch them. They stilled. He pulled out a letter from his cloak. “This ‘ere is a letter from m’brother ‘n law over in Gulltown, he’s a baker, same as us. He tells me there’s grain in the Vale, comes by way of the North.”

 

“The North ain’t like to ‘elp us.” said Old Harry frowning up at him. “’sides I ‘eard it was the North that set them fires in the first place.”

 

The yelling began again and Olyvar yelled over them.

 

“Three years ago!” He started. “They had a powerful wet season in the Vale 'n the grain went to wet 'n rot, this here King ‘n t’North sent ‘is own ships full of flour 'n the like, not for trade…”They had silenced now. “…but as a gift, did it simply t’lend a hand t’those o’leant ‘im theirs in the long winter.”

 

“This ain’t winter, Olyvar.” grumbled Old Harry, but even he seemed to be thinking about it now.

 

“ Mayhaps it’s not, but we all know this ‘ere Northern King ‘as no love for the Martell, do ‘e.” Olyvar said quietly. “And I don’t know about you lot, but I remember when those golden fucks from the Company was in my shop. I remember when they ate my goods. I was lucky it were all I lost. Some o’ us lost children, some ‘o us had our women raped, our sisters, _daughters_.”

 

The hall was silent, a gloom of memories settling over the assembled.

 

“I 'eard the rumors, same as you, tha’ it was the North that started them fires in the ‘arbor. That it was the North tha’ got the queen killed, but I heard another rumor as well.” Several mugs began beating on table tops. “I ‘eard tell that those Golden men got what they got by Northern steel over in Essos, I ‘eard the river ran red with their blood and nary a one of them will ever seize breath again.”

 

It wasn’t so much a cheer that rose up, but a bloodthirsty cry of a people wounded long ago.

 

“Where was the Dornish when our city was under the thumb of the company? Outside our walls, waitin’, while we starved. I heard there isn’t enough grain or flour in all of Dorne to make a loaf of blackened bread. Are we to expect ‘im t’help us now? How come Lords 'n Ladies are leavin’ the city in droves? I seen ‘em, same as you. They’re leavin’ us t’starve again, I can feel it comin' in my very bones, are we t’let it ‘appen again?”

 

“No! Fuck the Dornish King!” A shout went up and a dozen others of the like followed.

 

“Then what are we goin’ t’ do about it?” Cried Olyvar Rivers.

 

 

++++

 

“Have we heard from Lord Stokesworth yet?”

 

Connington shifted in his chair, watching the King pour another goblet of wine with a shaking hand. A sinking feeling had begun to grow in his stomach in the last weeks, as he watched the Martell King try and recover from his ordeal the night the queen left. ‘Fire and Blood’ the maester had said was carved into his chest. The thought still made the old Rooster wince, but the other wound, the one that was the cause for the wrap around his head leaving him with the look of a man gone to war and come back the worse for wear made him positively sick.

 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Connington said quietly. “He’s promised grain in a week’s time and about fifty men, though…”He paused and sighed. “He said he was remiss to commit more until he’d heard from House Rykker.”

 

“Why must he hear from House Rykker?” said Trystane turning sharply, Connington saw him flinch in pain and place a hand on his chest. “They are both sworn to the crown.”

 

 _Who holds the crown?_ Connington thought. “They are, it’s true, Your Grace, though I’m afraid with the queen gone there is some questions being asked.”

 

“What questions?” Trystane growled though it was with little angry, only denial.

 

“We have been outmaneuvered, Your Grace, you must see that.” Connington had thought much about Mormont’s last words to him and had come to only one conclusion. “The King in the North has moved against you.”

 

“I want that fucking bastard King dead, Connington,” Trystane shouted, then slumped down in a seat and looked quietly into his goblet. He looked up. “I realize it was he that has moved against me, but he got your queen killed Connington and you’ve sworn yourself to me. There must be something we can do, it cannot go unpunished.”

 

Gods damn my vows. Though what was he to do, and who else could he follow? Trystane didn’t understand it yet, but he would never sit the Iron Throne, even others outside of the obvious reason of it being in pieces scared about the throne room amongst a pile of glass and rubble that was slow to be moved. He could only give the best advice he knew. “Leave the city, Your Grace, while you can.”

 

“I cannot,”Trystane said shaking his head. “If I left it would be seen as cowardice and who would the people look to then, I must be seen to stay.”

 

“It is your very presence that causes the riots, Your Grace.” Connington bit out, slowly losing his patience. “With the queen dead, you have no claim to the throne, if the Lannister girl was still here she might bring the Westerlands over to your side, but it appears that she has disappeared with her dwarf uncle. You have no allies in the Crownlands to speak of, are they sworn to the crown, yes, who’s crown? You must go home to Dorne.”

 

“To Dorne?” Trystane laughed, “And what, live in the Water Gardens with my sister, having her give me those pathetic looks she reserves only for me?”

 

“If you must, you must.” Said Connington simply. He’d had many years to think about what being Hand to a King took. Aerys had been mad, yes, but maybe if he’d heard more of the truth instead of what he wanted he wouldn’t have gotten his entire family scattered to the wind. “That is what a king does, you still have the support of the Stormlands, we can gather men as we go south and join with Ser Gerold and Lord Yronwood. Perhaps, if we can subdue the Reach together we can reach a compromise with the Westerlands, there may still be a way. We’ll offer to recognize the Lannister bastard girl and you can marry her instead.”

 

“If she’s even there,” Tyrstane murmured. He stood from his seat and walked to the balcony, looking out over the Blackwater, it was good that it faced east, west only showed a city in chaos and cries from thousands in the streets. He turned back to Connington, “You’re right, I must go and join with Ser Gerold, my people must see I will fight for what is mine.”

 

Connington let out a long breath, then Trystane spoke again.

 

“You will go North, Connington, and show that Bastard King that he cannot subdue me so easy.”

 

“Your Grace, forgive me, as I said before it is not so easy. He destroyed the fleet at Maidenpool, the only ships I have left are from the old Iron Born fleet at Storms end, a mere forty. It is not enough. As far as men, I can raise perhaps twenty-five hundred, it is not wise.”

 

“It may not be wise Connington, but it is bold. You are a battle commander are you not, think of a way.” Trystane appeared to set his mind.

 

Connington realized this ‘King’ was going to get him killed, but then again Mormont’s words came back to him. Words that he had not repeated for fear to anger the Martell.

 

Fire cannot kill a true dragon.

 

 

 

++++

 

 

It was conducted at the height of the new day sun so that the seven-pointed star was reflecting all of its golden glory. Lord Baelor Hightower knelt before the High Septon, impatient to get on with it.

 

“May the wisdom of the father guide you in your quest. You’ve knelt before the Seven a man, arise a King.”

 

Hightower felt the crown of golden vines placed upon his head and slowly stood, a voice calling out as he faced the eager crowd.

 

“Baelor the Devout, first of his name, King of the Reach, The Arbor, and The Shield Islands. Long may he reign.

 

++++

_“If you’ve come for the Weddin’, they’re not here, it’s over at Riverrun.”_

 

The old castellan at Raventree Hall had said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but his words made Tyrion’s blood run cold. What wedding, and more importantly, who was getting married? He hadn’t wanted to ask, in order to keep his own thoughts and ignorance to himself, but as he neared the castle on the Tumbleton and Red fork rivers, he began it get an ominous feeling crawling over his skin.

 

It seemed every man and woman for twenty miles was at the gates of Riverrun, a fair was bubbling with laughter and strong drink. A company of tumblers delighted the small folk, as well as a mummer’s troop singing songs. Tyrion and his small band of men picked their way through the crowds until they were at the moat staring up at the sigils waving in the night breeze. The red and blue of the Tully fish, and next to it, the red sun on an orange background, pierced through with a spear. It was the sigil of House Nymeros Martell.

 

“What have you done you _fool_.” Whispered Tyrion staring up at the banners.

 

He allowed a groom to take the reins when he entered the inner keep, eyes on the doors leading to the great hall. People milled about, those of the Riverlands obvious in their dull leathers and tunic, but the others were obviously further from the south. Myrish silks abounded, even on the men, bright colors of every shade, perfume filled the night air. Tyrion allowed Oren to lead the way, making a path through the crowd. As they entered the great hall, Oren stepped aside and cried out. “Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, Warden of the West and Hand to the Queen Daenerys Targaryen!”

 

Every eye in the room swung in his direction, the music stopped. Tyrion walked further into the hall past the crowd that quickly made an avenue. He found a pair of couples embraced in the center of the hall. A tall boy with dark hair that stared at him in surprise with purple eyes, a plain looking girl with chestnut hair resting her head on his chest. Next, to them, another couple stood. The boy had auburn hair and a narrow face, the girl was a true Dornish beauty, all dark hair, curves, and sultry smiles. He didn’t even have to glance up at the Lord’s table to know who her mother was, but he did anyway.

 

Centered, staring at him with a smirk over an ornate goblet held close to her lips, was Princess Arianne Martell, seated next to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, Edmure Tully.

 

“You should congratulate me, Lord Tyrion.” Said a smooth voice next to him. “I don’t think there has ever been a marriage alliance between Dorne and the Riverlands, much less two.”

 

Tyrion slowly turned, taking in the plain grey robes, the hands held lightly in their sleeves. He looked up into the smiling eyes, the bald plate shining in the torchlight.

 

“Congratulations are clearly in order if your plan is to get all of these people killed, Spider.”

 


	19. Dragons Don't Hide In Castles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Daenerys arrival at Snow's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I found time to write. May get another chapter before Monday unless life stuff happens.

“Your Nephew?”

 

At any other time, the look on her friend's face would have made Daenerys release a heartfelt chuckle, but all she could manage was a small chagrined smile. Missandei’s brow furrowed deeply, she opened her mouth and then closed again, eyes searching unseeing in front of her.

 

“You can search for the words my friend, but it won’t make it any less confusing,” Daenerys said quietly.

 

They were breaking their fast well into the afternoon in the chambers Jon has escorted her to at dawn. The _argument_ had seemed to reach a point where exhaustion prevented any more words to pass between them and in truth, her mind just couldn’t catch up with everything. She had fallen asleep, fully dressed on top of the furs of her bed. There was a moment where she remembered Missandei coming early in the morning to check on her and sending her away with a sleepy groan.

 

Now, the windows of the early afternoon open to the cool breeze and sweet smell of summer air, she took in her chambers. Daenerys smiled fondly at an old Targaryen banner that someone must have kept safe all these years, that had been hung on one side of the room and one of Jon’s sigils on the opposite. The stone floor between the hearth and the bed was covered with a fine thick carpet of warm wool dyed blood red that was long enough to curl her naked toes in. It was a room fit and adorned for a queen of Targaryen blood. She was not so foolish to ignore the war in her heart, but the relief of the quiet moment made her call a brief truce.

 

“And you’re sure that this is certain?” Missandei said, still looking confused at the mere thought.

 

“Brandon Stark saw the truth of it in one of his visions and there is something else.” Daenerys took a sharp breath, quickly pushing it out of her mouth. “A child.”

 

Slow realization slid over her friend’s face and then she was knelt at Daenerys side, clutching at her hand. “Your Grace, the child?”

 

“Is Jon’s and she is,” Daenerys swallowed, the prickle had come to her eyes, but it didn’t seem she had any tears left at the moment. “unquestionably my niece or at the very least my blood.” She lightly pulled at a  silver strand curled down her shoulder. “The hair you see, and the eyes.” _The indigo eyes of my brother, Jon’s father_. “She will never be able to hide what she is any more than I.” With a squeeze of Missandei’s hand, trying to reaffirm that she was not going to break down. “That is why I have agreed to help Jon keep her safe.”

 

“Is the child in danger?” Missandei asked, tilting her head.

 

“She will always be in danger,” Daenerys said thoughtfully. She took in her friends searching gaze, remembering the little slave girl she’d freed many years before. A girl was taken from her home, because someone with the means to do it, had done so. “Have I ever told you what my brother Viserys said when I tried to refuse to marry Drogo?”

 

Missandei shook her head.

 

“He said he would let every man and horse in Drogo’s horde fuck me if it got him the throne.” Daenerys sighed. “The king is not the type of man to allow or say such a thing. It makes me wonder what my life would have been if it had been Jon with me in exile, or…”She allowed herself a small smile. “Aegon, as his birth name was.”

 

Missandei’s brow rose, then she frowned. “And His Grace, knew of his birth, before?”

 

“Yes,” Daenerys answered tightly, lips drawing thin. “ and he is not yet safe from that particular fight. I was just too tired last night to deal with it all properly. I shall have to sharpen my blades first.”

 

Missandei gave her an understanding nod and when she stood a knock sounded at the door.

 

At Daenerys summons, her two good sisters entered the room. Arya not waiting for the perfunctory greeting simply walked over to the table and grabbed a slab of cheese and flopped down in a chair. Princess Sansa watched her sister with a strange affection and then gave Daenerys a graceful curtsy, preferring to remain standing a short distance away.

 

If she didn’t know better Daenerys would never have known these two women were blood at all. Arya was rough and all northern with dark hair and grey eyes, while Sansa was tall, red of hair and had the manners and airs of a southern queen. Time had done little to change either of those things about them, only carved away the youthful things and left these two different but equally formidable woman.

 

“Sorry, my brother is an idiot sometimes,” Arya said, gnawing at a corner of her cheese. “He thinks we’re idiots too.”

 

“What my sister means to say,” Sansa cut in tightly. “Is that while Jon might have never said anything directly, we’ve suspected since Egg’s birth that there was more to the story than he let on.”

 

“My coin was on the two of you being brother and sister like proper Targaryen’s,” Arya said with a smirk. She blew a raspberry through her lips. “Aunt and Nephew? That’s hardly going to make for a good song now is it?”

 

Daenerys allowed herself a light snort, that gifted her with a wink from Arya and a frown from Sansa.

 

“And I told _you_ he spent an awful lot of time in front of that statue of Aunt Lyanna,” Sansa said with a huff. She shook her head. “What I’m saying is that nothing he told us this morning was a surprise and I think it only welcome news. We have a shortage of family, Your Grace, and while you became ours long ago, the reaffirmation is all the sweeter.”

 

The mask that Daenerys held to her face faltered slightly. She honestly couldn’t help it, Sansa’s word pieced something help deep in her chest and it made her breath catch. All she could do is release a breathy. “Thank You.”

 

“None of that,” Arya said, rolling her eyes and standing, mouth still full of cheese. Daenerys watched her swallow and then turn to Missandei. “Come along, good sister, let’s give the fine lady’s a privacy. I saw your husband out in the yard and I intend to goad him into a spar.”

 

With a nod to Missandei’s questioning look, Daenerys watched the two leave through her chamber doors. Leaving her with her good sister Sansa Stark, the hand to the King in the North. She motioned to the seat opposite her and Sansa took it, easy back and folding her hands in her lap.

 

“I suppose you’re quite cross with my, brother.” Sansa frowned. “Or cousin, Aegon.” She let out a short laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to call him that.”

 

“I’m honestly surprised you’re not nearly as angry as I am.” Daenerys breathed.

 

Sansa chewed at her lip thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ve had some years to actually think on it. I was in the room, you know when Egg was born. Nothing after that could surprise me much.” She appeared to steel herself. “It was also me that broke the news to Jon at Moat Cailin.”

 

“I see,” Daenerys said quietly twisting the ring on her thumb.

 

“Those are the only two times I’ve seen my brother truly frightening, Your Grace,” Sansa whispered. “Though both were of a different kind. One raw and angry, the other was hard as steel, as if he’d resigned himself. I think I began to understand then.” She let out a tight growl, something feral that might be attributed to her younger sister. “He hadn’t been able to protect his family, Daenerys. And no matter how much I’ve told him he cannot protect everyone, you know my brother. If a tragedy happens within a hundred miles of him, he’ll take the blame and then go and try to kill it.”

 

“Even when the tragedy is of his own making,” Daenerys said coldly, meeting the blue eyes of her good sister strongly, raising her chin.

 

“Especially when it is of his own making.” Said Sansa, her own mask falling into place. “I do not approve of all that my brother does, but I’ve come to find that while he rarely does anything without reason, even when he does his instincts rarely prove him wrong.”

 

“And that includes holding his tongue to even those closest to him?” Daenerys could feel a heat gathering at the back of her neck. It was an old feeling though unfamiliar now. “Am I to imagine that if his birth were known it wouldn’t have changed something of my fate? Of his Lady wife that birthed his child?”

 

“I am of the opinion that it would have changed very little.” Sansa bit out through her teeth. “Would his birth have stopped you from heading south into a trap laid by the very men who were meant to serve you? Would it have stopped my brother from getting a knife in the ribs while he laid abed? If his parentage was known it would have been a simple thing to accomplish. And do not presume to tell me of Lady Wynafryd, I know far more than you.”

 

“Jon told me enough that I can find no reason I shouldn’t fault him for his silent tongue. If the Lady had known what she was carrying, perhaps she might have found the strength to the love the child, no matter her looks.”

 

Sansa sniffed and leaned back in her chair. “Did my brother tell you she was widowed?”

 

Daenerys stilled. “He did not.”

 

Sansa hummed. “She was married to a Corbrey. Her grandfather, ever the capitalist was making business even at the height of the long night. Her husband died of a fever at Moat Cailin, while Wynafryd herself fought against a fever close by his side. She was never the same after and I cautioned Jon against marrying her, even her own sister Wylla, cautioned him.” Sansa shook her head in frustration. “Though what could he do? Wylla herself was betrothed and while he might have used his crown to break it, you can imagine he was unwilling to do such a thing. And though I love my brother fiercely and Arya as well, I do not think we lean much to the traditions of your family. So…Wynafryd.”

 

“I see,” Daenerys said in thought. “So you believe she was unhappy to begin with.”

 

“I don’t need to believe I _know_ she was. She was a dutiful woman, but I lived with her here, sometimes she would have such bouts of melancholy she wouldn’t leave her chambers for days. And Jon, though kind to her was rarely here at all. They were not a good match, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys blew out a breath, trying to calm the beating of her heart. “Perhaps if I feel so affronted for the Lady, it is because I feel so myself. I wasn’t just his queen Sister, I was his _wife_. What he kept from me was too important. He should not have done it.”

 

“Perhaps so, but perhaps that is the very reason that he did not tell,” Sansa said with a lifted brow. When Daenerys began her next question, Sansa shook her head. “He did not explain it to me, but I believe you need to ask him yourself.” She waved her hand around in the air. “Too much time has been lost to hold onto these things, you are here now and that is all that matters.”

 

Daenerys mused that perhaps Sansa was right, but it was not an easy thing she asked, it had been too many years to simply brush it aside. For now at the least.

 

“Now,” Sansa began, switching back into a more reserved posture. “My King has informed me that you will now be involved in all council meetings and if you feel inclined other matters regarding the running of his kingdom.” Her face softened a little. “In truth it is welcome, I could use someone else whose experience exceeds my own. I trust that we can rely on the Lady Missandei to be involved as well.”

 

“As I am currently thinking of ways to murder my last Hand, I believe Missandei will be a welcome addition.”

 

Sansa flinched, but she didn’t pursue that conversation, only nodded shallowly. She pulled a small scroll from the inside of her gloved hand and held it out for Daenerys to take from her. Unrolling it and running her eyes over the words…though they weren’t words, not any kind she’d seen before. She looked up questioningly at her good sister, who watched her with a keen blue eye.

 

“What is this?” Daenerys said in confusion, still trying to make sense of the jumble of nonsense.

 

“Something of Lord Tarly’s imagining,” Sansa said, pleased with herself. “All correspondence within and outside of our Kingdom is written in Dothraki.”

 

“Dothraki?” Daenerys whispered, then she frowned. “There is no written language amongst the Dothraki.”

 

“There is now. It was simple enough once we’d gotten the lay of it. It’s all based on sounds, say the words exactly as they are written.”

 

_id dee ta t ah ee sh's nah kay ho_

She said is again, mouthing out the words slowly.

 

 “Idde tat ahesh’s nakho.” Daenerys read, stronger this time, a smile spread over her face. “Welcome to Snow’s End?” She looked up and was more than a little pleased when Sansa gave her a true smile.

 

“It will take time to read the more complicated correspondence, but I believe you’ll pick it up quickly. Only takes practice. Lord Samwell can help if you have a need.”

 

Daenerys laid the scroll on the table next to her. Lost in thought she rose from her chair and paced across the room, enjoying the feel of the carpet on the soles of her feet sore from days of travel. She turned back to Sansa still sitting rigidly in her own chair.

 

“I cannot help but marvel at what the North has accomplished, Princess Sansa, but forgive me if…”Daenerys tried to find the right word as to not give offense. “I am also envious. Perhaps that makes me a poor friend of your kingdom and it’s king, but I cannot but voice it.”

 

Sansa looked up at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Do not feel envy for the North, Your Grace. We have endured much. Feel sadness for those in the south who will never come to our way of thinking. It took facing our very extinction to break down the old ways, and it took a King willing to do anything to ensure our survival.” Sansa broke her words for a moment to frown and curl her brow. “Jon didn’t want to be King you know? He tried to give it to me after he’d woke at the Moat.”

 

“Truly?” Daenerys said surprised, though as she thought about it, that is certainly what the old Jon would have done.

 

“There was a time in my life when I might have grabbed it from him and thought it well deserved, but,” Sansa gave a pitying sigh. “What he did at Winterfell, what you helped him do, the strength the two of you showed together. I wouldn’t have been able to summon.” There was a slight tremble in her voice as she said the next words. “I loved my home too much, I had lost too much of my family. We would have lost that war if it had been up to me to make the decisions. After the war and with time to see Jon’s ways, the tireless drive to right things and improve upon those that weren’t right from the beginning. I follow Jon’s vision now, as he follows yours. Do not feel envy for something that you had such a hand in creating.”

 

Her sister’s words had barely registered as a pleasant feeling before Sansa had risen from her chair and grabbed both of her hands in hers.

 

“I know what it is like to endure, Your Grace,” Sansa said, imploring her to understand with her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know what it is like to be a woman in a world that sees you as little more than a womb, even if you are a queen.”

 

Daenerys felt her hands begin to tremble in Sansa’s, she could do little more than squeeze them between her own and give her an understanding smile she didn’t quite feel.

 

“Endure no more, Your Grace,” Sansa said fiercely. “Countenance no more slights of petty lords. In the North, we are one pack and one people. Now the North is whole again as it’s queen has returned home, I plead with you to embrace our strength and wield it as your own. For the sake of our _family_.”

 

The embrace that followed was tight and filled with long overdue tears. _Family_. The way the word rolled off of the Princess’ tongue felt like the warm brush of spring as the snow’s thawed. Sansa had always been somewhat distant with her. The only time she could remember an embrace from her before this was the one she’d carried home to her brother from King’s Landing. A memory so fraught with pain, that it was still raw these many years later, but why should she hold onto that pain now when it was being washed away in fresh memories of acceptance and love. The love of her family born anew, with sisters to hold dear and a people to protect. With a child that burnt for the hope of a house thought lost to the wind and time.

 

“You honor me, Sansa,” Daenerys said, pulling back and looking up at her good sister. “It will take time, but I will do my best.”

 

“Good,” said Sansa pulling back, trying to regain the mask that had fallen into tears. “Now that my duty as your good sister is over, perhaps you will allow me to do my duty as your hostess. I should like to show you around the keep.”

 

“I should like it of all things, My Princess.”

 

++++

 

The words had all but become a scramble as Sam droned on with his lists and levies, things that were important in their place, but Jon’s mind held little more than the thought of his bed down the hall. He had not sought his bed after escorting Daenerys to her chambers, only donned his cloak and walked the grounds like a specter waiting for the dawn to release his pacing. So long he’d waited to look her in the eyes and tell of his sins. Her wrath was the only in all the world he feared and it had come like fire as expected, had hurt deeper than he could ever imagine admitting. Now all he could do is wait for her to sort it out in her own mind, the one relief that she saw as he did, the danger to his Egg. 

 

 _You will not do it alone, Jon. We will do it together as we did before_.

 

Her words said strongly with a gaze of iron that spoke of the queen she truly was had caught his breath and tightened his throat. Gods, Daenerys Targaryen. People could say what they wish about dragons, the true fire made flesh had flashing purple eyes that could pierce armor at a hundred paces, just as she had done to him on countless occasions. _And she’s in this castle_ , he thought, sighing.

 

“You’re not even pretending to listen at this point. Why don’t you go and find your bed as I suggested before.” Said Sam tossing his quill upon the parchment.

 

“There’s too much to do Sam and we’re still waiting on word from Riverrun.” Jon sighed, running his hands over his face.

 

“The raven’s will arrived whether you get to sleep or not, I’d rather you were rested so I don’t have to deal with your sour face.” Chuckled Sam, he looked over Jon’s face. “Are you still planning on heading north in two days?”

 

“Aye,” Jon said. “I thought I might invite the queen along if she’s willin’.”

 

“Good,” said Sam gathering the parchments into a neat pile. “After what I heard last night, seems to me the both of you could do with a good ride.”

 

“Fuckin’ Hell, Sam.” Said Jon snorted.

 

“What?” Sam said innocently. “I was talking about horseback, but now that you mention it…”

 

“Daenerys is more like to slit my throat than anythin’ else and…”Jon chewed at the side of his lip for a moment. “Her trust is hard won and I’ve broken that trust. It’ll take more than a few words between us to repair it if it can be repaired at all.”

 

“Then use more than a few words, Jon,” Sam said, standing. Jon watched him lean back, trying to loosen tight muscles. “Now that the yelling has stopped, I’m going to take my own advice and get some rest. Had to sleep in a chair in the library last night.” Sam started walking towards the solar door. “If you do decide to start yelling again, give me fair warning and I’ll go sleep with Tilda.”

 

Jon watched him go, trying to decide if he should find his bed as well, but the churning in his mind wouldn’t stop, too many things were in play at the moment. He pushed himself back from the desk, deciding a walk would be best to clear his mind.

 

++++

 

Sansa had shown her the family wing of the castle, noting the changes that had been made when they’d decided to take up residence. Apparently, the former Lords of the Dreadfort had used monstrous things like the skeletal hands of hanged men to hold candles to light their corridors. Banners were often made from the skin of their victims. The cells below the castle had smelled of centuries of blood. All of it had to go before Sansa would step a single foot in the place and Jon had seen it done.

 

Snow’s End was not the Red Keep, but it didn’t need to be, it felt much more like a home, lived in.

 

“I believe we are being followed, Your Grace,” Sansa said quietly next to her ear. For a moment there was a brush of fear that gripped at Daenerys, but then she saw the playful smile that pulled at her good sister’s lips. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder and saw two small heads near the ground of the corner they’d just rounded dart back out of sight. One with mousey brown hair, the other an unmistakable silver.

 

“I believe you’re right, Princess,” Daenerys muttered with a quirked brow.

 

Sansa pulled them both into a dark alcove a few paces away, holding a finger up to her lips. The sound of little-booted feet and soft hushed giggles rang outside the alcove. Sansa’s body tensed next to her, shaking with silent laughter. The steps slowed, the little ones so close they could hear their excited breathing only feet away.

 

Daenerys wasn’t sure what would be the thing that made her truly laugh the first time she came north. So many emotions remained confused in her heart, but seeing a princess, one who sat at the right hand of a king, leap from her hiding, hands above her head with a sharp “Boo!”, did the trick. She couldn’t help it really, the excited shrieking of the little ones, bouncing on their toes as Sansa grabbed one beneath the shoulders and swung them around, the other impatiently waiting their turn, arms lifted.

 

It was when the silver-headed princess was set before her that the laughter stopped. Gone was the sleepy child of the night before and now the hair had been plated into a sensible northern braid, the little night shift gone and now a small blue gown of excellent quality covered her tiny form. The color of the gown only brought her eyes into greater relief, her pale skin glowed against the grey of the castle stone. _Is this what people saw when they looked at herself?_ Because Daenerys had never seen a thing as beautiful as this little Egg, staring up at her in equal wonder.

 

“You’re the Dragon Queen!” Came an excited voice. Daenerys looked over and the mousy-haired girl who was pointing a finger at her, round cheeks red, mouth open.

 

“Manners, Child.” Sansa chided lightly. She looked up at Daenerys. “May I present the Lady Tilda Tarly, Sam’s little one.”

 

The curtsy that followed was not elegant nor balanced but was so earnestly done that Daenerys could only smile at the little girl and return her bow. “It is a pleasure, My lady.”

 

“And this, who I believe my brother has not properly introduced,” said Sansa, placing a hand on top of the princess' head. “Is the Princess Alysanne Snow.”

 

“Snow?” Daenerys said sharply, looking up at Sansa. Jon couldn’t possibly have denied the girl a proper name.

 

Sansa held up a placating hand. “Davos and I played a little trick on my brother when he wouldn’t legitimize himself a Stark. The long night was hard on the North and as far as we know, Jon was the only Snow to be found anywhere, so there was a decree that all baseborn following would be known as Winter’s.” Sansa smoothed down the little girl's hair. “Besides, there is little shame in one's birth in the north now and surprisingly few Winters that are born. It seems most Lord’s do not wish the ire of a king that knows the pain of bastardry.”

 

“No, I suppose they don’t,” Daenerys said amused.

 

“Dra’on.” A little voice said the princess held up a small carving of a dragon, the very same that Davos had been working during their days on the road. Daenerys smiled and took the small carving from the outstretched hand. “Papa Dav.”

 

“Yes, I know Davos carved it for you. I believe he missed you while he was away, little one.” Daenerys said, trying to remain calm in the face of this miracle smiling widely up at her. She blew out a breath and handed the carving back into the grasp of the child.

 

“Davos is home?” Tilda said looking up at Sansa. “Can we go see him?”

 

“I’m not sure where he is, Tilly,” Sansa said with a shrug. “We will see him at supper later, I’m sure.” The disappointment was apparent on both the girl's faces and Daenerys came to a sudden plan.

 

“Perhaps, they can accompany us on our tour of the keep and we’ll run into the old smuggler.” She said with a smile, that was not met with one in return as she expected. Her smile fell and she frowned. “What is it?”

 

++++

 

“Jon _Snow!_ ”

 

The sound of that voice sent a shiver over him. He hadn’t even properly shut his solar door before it broke the silence of the corridor. He sighed, knowing full well he’d stepped in it again in some way. Resigned, he turned to the sound of her heavy footsteps coming towards him and was met with a vision only reserved for dreams.

 

There she was, the Dragon Queen, stalking towards him with fire on the tip of her tongue, eyes flashing with heat and flame. It was only a moment to reflect on what he was seeing, his wife and queen with a silver-haired child scooped up on her hip, playing with a strand of silver hair to match her own. Gods, his heart almost stopped at the sight. Then she was on him and her fire burned.

 

“Am I to understand,” She hissed at him, eyes narrowed. “that this child, you’re daughter, and my blood, has spent her life in this castle? The only bit of fresh air allowed that patch of dirt you showed me last night?”

 

“Daenerys…” he growled, he’d had this conversation too many times before.

 

“No.” She cut him off sharply. “A cell is a cell no matter how pretty, Jon. We are _dragons_.” She brushed past him heading for the stairs at the end of the corridor, throwing over her shoulder. “We do not hide in castles, we burn them.” She swept away and perhaps it was the lack of sleep or Sam’s needling, but as she walked away his tired eyes lingered a little too long on the gentle sway of her hips for it to be honorable. He was only saved by Egg blowing a kiss to him over the queen's shoulder and then waving one of Davos’ carvings around in the air.

 

“Dra’on’s!” She shouted, making Tilly giggle at their heels.

 

“Your Queen returns, Brother _Aegon_ ,” Sansa said dryly next to him.

 

Jon groaned and pulled at his hair. “Please don’t start calling me that, I can only take so much in one day.” He gave her a small smile. “You think it’s too late to send her back?”

 

“Oh, Jon.” Sansa barked out a laugh and shook a finger at him. “You cannot fool me, brother.” Without another word, she followed the others down the corridor, towards the Hall and the keep beyond.

Jon groaned and followed, knowing that another argument was about to begin before the other had even ended.


	20. The Voice That Rose In The Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany...Tyrion and Varys...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, kept having things distract me from writing this week. Big thanks to Justwanderingneverlost for looking this chapter over and putting up with my humble writing.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Daenerys.”

 

It might have been his dullard sleep deprived senses that made his own voice echo so loudly across the great hall of Snow’s End, but the way the few faces shot up from their meals made him suspect they were not the reason. Especially when the queen abruptly stopped her progress across the stone floor, adjusting Egg on her hip and slowly turned to face him, eyebrow lifted in a threatening way.

 

Jon swallowed, knowing that how he handled the next moments might determine the survival of whatever small progress they’d made the night before. He stepped down off the dais, taking the steps slowly, warily eyeing those who were still finishing their midday meal. He saw Little Sam’s eyes widen as he stood up so quickly he jostled a blonde girl sitting next to him. The girl barely registered that she’d nearly been knocked off the bench, only stared open-mouthed at Daenerys with Egg on her hip.

 

“Alright you lot, clear the hall!” Little Sam cried out as he took the golden-haired girl by the elbow and led her to the hall doors. The rest silently rose and followed, eyes fixed on the stone floor as they cleared out.

 

Jon sighed inwardly, there was a least two or three sets of eyes who had never actually seen Egg before. He’d have to speak to Little Sam about giving them the talk.

 

“Come on then, Egg, we’ve had our fun with your father,” Sansa said, stepping forward. Egg twisted in Daenerys grasp and snaked her arms around Sansa’s neck. His queen’s arms fell weakly to her sides he saw. “We’ll go to the lemon garden.”

 

“But fath’ see da moon,” Egg said with her brow furrowing. Her face held such accusation that it almost made Jon laugh out loud.

 

“The moon hasn’t woken yet, cub,” he said softly as they passed by, heading back towards the stairs. “I’ll take you to say hello tonight when the sun finds its bed.” He was rewarded when a smile split her pale face as she retreated with her aunt and Tilly in tow. He steeled himself and turned. Daenerys had laced her hands in front of her, lips held in a tight line, eyes void of any emotion at all. _Damn_ , he thought. “Don’t do that.”

 

The lilac eyes flared briefly before the emotion retreated again and one dark brow lifted. “What is it that I have done, Your Grace.”

 

“You put your damn walls up and you know that drives me mad,” Jon growled.

 

“You’re one to talk about walls when you’ve caged your own daughter in them since the day she was born,” Daenerys bit out through her teeth. Anger flared in her eyes and she did that thing where her shoulders drew back at the force of her words. In truth, she was mesmerizing as always and Jon found himself stunned for a brief moment before he remembered to defend himself.

 

“That’s not true. I have the fosterin’s here right now, children from all over the kingdom. I only limit her time when I have to, otherwise, she has her run of the keep same as any child might.” Jon sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He was growing more tired by the moment. “I only returned from Essos two moons ago. I was away nearly a year.” He looked up at her, trying to make her understand his reasoning. “When I left she was just…” He waved a gloved hand. “this little thing. I’m not even sure she knew what _outside_ meant.”

 

“Her age is not an excuse, Jon,” Daenerys said, stepping forward. “I know. I remember being locked away as a child. Do you…” She shook her head in frustration. “I always tell of my fond memories in Braavos, with my brother and Ser William. The manse with the tree in the courtyard and the red door, but I have to tell that story fondly, Jon.” He saw her lips trembled as her mask broke. “It is the only sweet memory I have, not just as a little child, but for years and years after and even then…”

 

“I know.” Jon nodded at her. “She’s not having your childhood, Dany. She’s surrounded by her family, and friends that she’ll be able to trust as good as family. In truth,” He tried to gather his thoughts for a moment, “the day is comin’ when I’ll not be able to hide her at all. I’m not a fool. And I trust my people with my life, nearly to a one. But should I trust them with her life? Should I risk Egg, because I’m fool enough to risk myself? It’s a question that I’d rather not have answered for as long as I am able to avoid it.”

 

Daenerys face softened a little, but she remained rigid in her posture, then with almost a whisper she said, “Forgive me, if I overstepped my position, Jon.”

 

Jon waved her off with a scoff. “I knew you’d always take offense to it, and I knew we’d have to have a talk about it. A talk, Dany. I don’t need you grabbin’ her up and runnin’ out of the keep. I know you don’t trust me at the moment, but I need you to at least trust that I’ll listen when you speak.” He laced his hands together and raised them so she saw. “Together, as you said.”

 

“Trust?” She frowned at him but didn’t say anything else only retreated back into herself.

 

“Go on, and ask it,” Jon said, nodding to her, waiting for the roof to cave in on top of him.

 

“We…” Daenerys swallowed and then furrowed her brow in thought. “Were fighting a war together, I trusted you with my life and you trusted me with yours. We were married, we said the words and yet...” Her purple eyes were far away looking over his head and he too fell into those long ago memories that were always split into before and after. Before the world was shit and cold, and after where there was nothing but misery and pain. “It would have been so simple to tell me, Jon.” Her eyes refocused, and there was no anger, only confusion. “You say you weren’t ashamed, so why?”

 

“I wasn’t ashamed as I told you.” He couldn’t help the small smile he felt tug at his lips. “Was there ever a night I was absent from your bed? In fact the night Bran told me, I think we had each other more than once.” He waved a hand at her frown and continued. “It wasn’t shame Dany, it was fear.” Jon chewed at his lip, buying what little time he could before he’d have to explain himself. He looked up and saw Daenerys was losing what little patience she had for him. “When I woke up at Castle Black after the Red Woman had brought me from the void, I was empty. And I carried that emptiness until I met you.”

 

He watched as her frown became less tight, eyes downcast and sad.

 

“Aye, I should have trusted you as my wife, that was wrong of me. But would you have knelt with me in front of the Wierwood tree at all if I’d told you of my birth?”

 

The words hung between them so thick, Jon imagined he might wave them back into his mouth if he chose, but they had to be said. She had to think about what he meant because he knew what she would have done.

 

“That’s not fair,” Daenerys choked out, but he could see how the truth was hidden behind her eyes.

 

“It’s not about fair, it’s only a question. What would you have made me do if you knew the truth about my birth?” He needed her to say it, admit it, and then they could move on. She only searched his face silently, while he waited for her to answer.

 

“But it happened anyway, Jon,” Daenerys finally said, blowing out a long-held breath.

 

“Aye, it did, but not because you willed it. Just…” Jon shrugged one shoulder and shook his head.

 

“Fate fucked us again?” she said quietly, but he could see the corner of her mouth tilt upwards, mocking him.

 

“Aye, it did.”

 

They stood there looking at one another, the colored glass shooting orange and red across his queen’s silver hair, while she gave him a sad smile that made his heart ache.

 

“Gods, I’ve missed you, Dany,” Jon blurted out. He wasn’t sure what even made him say it, it was only the truth.

 

“I’ve missed you too, Jon,” she returned quietly, eyes glittering in the light and if he didn’t know better they held slight amusement at his omission.

 

The air in the hall was thick when Jon pulled it into his lungs and it made his eyes sting slightly. Gods, this woman would be the death of him. He shook his head and cleared his mind of a few racing thoughts.

 

“I’ve deprived you of your hostess, Queen,” he started slowly. He nodded towards the Hall’s door. “If you’d like, I’ll be your guide for now.”

 

 

++++

 

 

The music receded as Tyrion followed Lord Varys away from the celebration, the corridors of Riverrun quiet and empty as they passed through them. Up a stair and through a door and they were in a large candlelit solar with a window that looked over the Tumblestone river. Tyrion walked straight to a side table that held a pitcher of wine and a goblet of nearly adequate size for his need.

 

“Wait,” Varys called before he could pour his first cup.

 

Tyrion watched Varys cross the room and examine the rich red wine with a curious eye then turn. There was a dark-skinned boy standing on the far side of the room, eyes forward and unseeing.

 

“Has anyone entered this chamber?” Varys asked quickly.

 

“No, My Lord,” said the youth, still staring out into the empty room.

 

“What is red, yellow, green and never sleeps,” Varys asked the boy sharply.

 

“Left hand, right hand, no hand,” came the reply.

 

Tyrion scrunched his face. A riddle with no meaning?

 

“Good,” Varys said, then nodded towards the door. “Leave us.”

 

The boy silently left the room, the sound of the latch sliding firmly into place behind him.

 

Tyrion eyed the door and then Varys. He proceeded to pour himself a goblet, raising an eyebrow to the Spider as he lifted the goblet to his lips. The old master of whispers silence seemed to be his approval and Tyrion swallowed the goblet whole, relishing the sour bite of the dornish red. He started to pour another. “You grow suspicious in your old age, Varys, more so than before anyway.”

 

“You would too, old friend, if you’d been chased by shadows as I have been,” Varys replied, waving away the goblet Tyrion offered him. The imp shrugged and kept it for himself.

 

“I take it Essos was not the relaxing retirement you’d meant it to be, then?” Tyrion said. He walked to the hearth and climbed up into a chair, letting his sore body settle, though the tension he felt didn’t recede. “How long have you been back in Westeros?”

 

“Mere months, but long enough to see what a mess you’ve made of everything,” said Varys, idly shifting from one foot to the other.

 

“Mess?” Tyrion growled, eyes narrowing. “It was you and your little games that provided us with this mess. It was you with your damn web spreading across decades that tangled the whole of the kingdoms, and then when it all came crashing down, it was you that ran away.”

 

“I had no other choice,” Varys said calmly. “Just as you had no other choice. We made the best with what we had at hand.”

 

“Oh, and I suppose now you’ve struck upon another plan? I saw the boy and his eyes downstairs, is he another mummer’s dragon? Are you going to try and fool the world again?” Tyrion spat on the floor, old anger washing over him. He was pleased with he saw the Spider’s mask falter.

 

“He is no dragon, but he does come from the meeting of noble houses. Prince Doran Martell is the son of Ser Gerold Dayne and the Princess, and I have now linked them to the only blood relative of the last Targaryen.”

 

“Ah, the Blackwood girl. And what does Lord Blackwood think of this match? I seem to remember he held no love for the Dornish.” Tyrion sighed, he remember reading once long ago, even brilliant men will play the fool if they strive for greatness long enough.

 

“We could ask him, but I’m afraid we’d have to make a trip to the dungeons to find out.”

 

“The dung...” Tyrion paused as the cup nearly touched his lips again. The image of the girl in the middle of the hall, face pressed into the chest of the Martell boy, swaying, drunkenly. He looked up at Varys, the horror of what he suspected washed over him. “Seven hells, what have you done?”

 

“What was needed for the good of the realm, My Lord. Lord Blackwood was unwilling and went against the wishes of his Lord Paramount. The daughter I’m afraid needed courage she didn’t possess.” Varys shrugged. “It was only a small draught, nothing to harm her. She’ll be herself by tomorrow.”

 

“After she’s been,” Tyrion growled, “married and properly bedded?” He tossed the goblet across the room. “You’ve no right, Varys. What place is it of yours to play with the lives of people this way?”

 

“I will do what I must,” Varys said strongly. “For the good of the realm, for the good of all people. The crown is weak, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. Attacks all across Westeros by wildfire? Even Lannisport?”

 

“Yes, I’ve heard them,” Tyrion said, regretting throwing his wine. He pushed himself out of the chair and went to retrieve the goblet.

 

“You know what that means, Lord Tyrion,” Varys said behind him. Tyrion tensed but said nothing, only poured himself another goblet. “Jon Snow knows what you did.”

 

Tyrion tossed the sour wine back grimacing in pain and regret. “I’ve made peace with my part.”

 

“He has your niece now, does that not worry you?” Varys asked softly.

 

“Jon Snow is not you, nor I. He wouldn’t sink to that level.”

 

“Are you sure?” He heard Varys approach him, the hem of his robes brushing softly on the stone floor. “Have you not heard what he did in IIben?” There was a smug sniff. “No, I suppose not, he’s taken steps for years to blind your court against his movements. He conquered them, put their men to the sword, enthralled their woman and children and sailed them into the Northern sea, never to be seen again.”

 

Tyrion turned slowly, looking up at the Spider. He wanted to not believe him, but for all of his secrecy, he’d hardly ever known Varys to outright lie, at least to him. The thought sent a shiver over him, but then he remembered that honest to a fault boy and man. He shook his head.

 

“Don’t believe me if you wish, I only tell you as an example. I’m sure there are others, but I’m afraid I don’t know what they are.” Varys sighed and shrugged. “I’ve come to believe that Jon Snow is a singularly dangerous man, Lord Tyrion. He must be stopped at all costs. He cannot be allowed to take possession of the southern kingdom, which I’m sure is what he is working towards.”

 

“Why?”

 

Varys looked down at his hands hidden in his sleeves. “I never told you what I heard in the flames the night the sorcerer cut me.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Tyrion said slowly. “Of course you don’t believe in magic, do you?”

 

“I never said I don’t believe, I said I detest it, and I do. Magic and sorcery have only ever caused pain and destruction in the world. You and I have both seen things, Tyrion. We would not be so foolish to discount it all together.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Tyrion said, taking a sip at his goblet. So many things…

 

“For years I worked against Robert Baratheon based on that voice that rose up out of the flames. I knew that he could not be allowed to hold sway over the Seven Kingdoms. Whatever you may think of the boy Aegon, he would have made a good king, I’m sure of it.”

 

Tyrion snorted but said nothing. He’d never actually met a good king, they were all cunts it seemed.

 

“When Robb Stark was King in the North, I helped Tywin Lannister in his plots for the same reason. The flames told the truth and he couldn’t be allowed to gain or hold a throne,” Varys continued. “And Trystane Martell, he was not an ideal replacement for Aegon. As soon as I met him, I knew that he too would need to be brought down.” Varys was lost in thought for a moment, then he looked up. “Four kings all sharing the same feature, Lord Tyrion.”

 

“That was only three.”

 

“Jon Snow is the fourth,” Varys said sharply. “Fifth actually. That monster the Night’s King shared it as well, and honestly I couldn’t help but think that he was my true enemy, that I had done what the flames had warned of when Jon Snow destroyed him. And then I heard the last whisper that came out of the North, the very thing that could set me running for my life.”

 

“And what did this voice in the flames warn of Varys? Don’t trust kings with cocks?” Tyrion drawled losing his patience with the Spider’s little games.

 

“No, not cocks, Lord Tyrion. Eyes,” Varys whispered. He looked up, gaze boring into Tyrion’s own. “ _Beware the king with blue eyes, for he is the doom reborn.”_

 


	21. He Had No Wolf To Call His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sam and Dorna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta Da, I know, days later than what I wanted as well. Better late than never. Anyway, hopefully, you guys enjoy this, see you in the comment section.

His grip was cold and hard through her sleeve as he led her out the hall doors and into a long breezeway cutting across one side of the yard. She could feel the lower part of her arm going numb, the flesh where his fingers held her gave a sharp twinge and she whimpered softly. At the sound, his grip lessened, but he held her still.

 

“Forget what you saw in there,” Sam said quietly, still leading her down the breezeway.

 

“But Sam, the girl…” she started. At her words, Sam stopped them and pushed her gently against a column. He held up a finger to her face and for the first time, something dangerous entered the light blue eyes of Samwell Tarly and it made Dorna shudder.

 

“That is _exactly_ what I mean, My Lady,” he hissed. “You’ve a curious mind and it’s welcome here, but when it comes to that little girl, nothing good will come of your questions,” Sam said the words softly, but every one of them was laced with danger. Dorna could only nod weakly, searching his eyes for the quiet boy she’d come to think of as her friend and found none of him, only bitter truth. Though Sam’s cold hands gripped either arm for a brief moment it felt as if a finger grazed passed her forehead and brushed lightly against her mind. She tried to recoil from his hard face but was frozen in fear.

 

“That didn’t take you long, Tarly,” said a mocking voice-over Sam’s shoulder. Dorna leaned around him and saw two boys had come up the breezeway with a tawny-colored direwolf following at their heels. A tall willowy boy with a lecherous smile splayed across his pinched face tilted his head in thought at them. “This one is pretty, mind if I give it a go?”

 

“Rhota,” Sam growled deep in his throat and his grip tightened further, before relaxing, along with his face. The hard look in his eyes was replaced by something cold and distant. “Apologies in advance, My Lady,” he whispered, letting her go and turning to the two boys behind them.

 

“Heard about Volga,” said the sneering boy.

 

“Heard _about_ , Rhota?” The dark haired one next to him snickered. “Whole camp heard those two, all the way from Vaes Dothrak to Meereen and back again. Too bad you're father didn't let you go Essos, Tarly.”

 

“Yeah,” laughed the boy Rhota turning back to Sam. “Lago turned her into a proper Dothraki Scream…”

 

He never finished his sentence as Sam swept him off his feet, with an emphatic forearm across his chest that took Rhota’s breath from his chest with an audible burst. The taller boy fell to the ground with a crash, Sam already in motion on the other boy, who threw a punch that somehow ended up trapped against Sam’s side. With a sickening crunch and a spray of blood that splattered across Dorna's face making her wince, Sam brought his forehead against the boy's nose, felling him like a tree at his feet.

 

“Why isn’t your wolf tearing out my throat, Rhota?” hissed Sam, kneeling at the boy's side. Rhota sneered, but still labored in his breathing. The wolf in question sat quietly on its haunches watching the scene unfold. “He’s my wolf, they’re all my wolves if I want them. I could cut your tether as easy as snipping a thread.” Sam made a cutting motion with two fingers inches from the boys widening eyes. “I could peel away your mind as easy as picking at a fucking scab…”

 

“Samwell!”

 

Dorna turned at the strong voice and saw Arya Stark had come up the breezeway, looking flushed and sweaty. The princess frowned down at the scene and especially at Sam himself. For his part, Sam looked abashed and slowly rose, backing away from the boys trying to right themselves.

 

“Care to explain?” Arya said raising an eyebrow at the three of them.

 

“We were just having a laugh, and Tarly went mad,” said the boy with the broken nose, his words slurred through bloodied teeth.

 

Rhota pushed himself off the ground rubbing his chest. He stared between Arya and Sam for a moment then under his breath, barely audible, he whispered the word _freak_ in Sam’s direction and then turned on his heel, slowly moving across the yard away from them, his companion following him along with the tawny wolf that whined his defiance at Samwell as he passed by.

 

“We shouldn’t be fightin’ amongst ourselves, Sam,” Arya said quietly. “We’ve enough enemies as it is.”

 

“I know,” Sam said huffing out a breath. He rubbed his forehead absently. “Forgive me, My Lady, Arya.” He nodded to them and walked away without another word or look in their direction.

 

The princess stayed beside her as they both watched Sam walk away down the breezeway.

 

“Dany says you’re alright for a Lannister,” Arya Stark said, then the grey-eyed princess turned, giving her an appraising look. “If you want my advice, tread carefully with that Tarly.” She cocked a head in the direction of his retreating back. “There are two things in the North more dangerous than me, and one of them is that boy.”

 

The princess turned back the way she’d come but stopped. “Better get some rest Lannister girl, I hear I’m to start teaching you the sword tomorrow.”

 

++++

 

She found him an hour later, after several wrong turns and mostly unhelpful advice from those about the castle she felt comfortable enough to ask, most giving her strange looks as she passed. Finally, she broke into a small stone yard lined on three sides with large kennels, most were empty, but in the last along the row to the right, she found Sam leaned against a cool stone wall half dozing while a pile furry wolf pups whined and crawled all over him. The sight made her giggle, causing the mother wolf to snap her head up from her nap, growling as her eyes opened.

 

“Agnes,” Sam said softly. The mother wolf seemed to sigh and lowered her head into the straw again. “It’s alright, you can come in.”

 

Dorna hesitated a moment and then slipped into the kennel, finding a place against the wall and lowered herself into the straw.

 

“Be careful they haven’t left any gifts that’ll stain your dress,” Sam said.

 

Dorna laughed lightly. As she settled into the straw, a small bundle of grey fur crawled into her lap, blue eyes searching hers. She smoothed down the pups downy fur, soft as any feather and was pleased when the little thing nestled into the crook between her legs.

 

“They like you,” Sam whispered, “these are Gaeric’s pups.”

 

“Gaeric?” Dorna said looking up at him.

 

“Aye,” Sam snorted, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t look so offended, he’s more wolf than man now. Father thought it’d be an interesting experiment. Took a little convincing, but here they are.”

 

Dorna ran her hand along the grey fur of the sleeping pup curled up her lap in thought.

 

“Are they…” she started.

 

“Smarter?” Sam asked. “I don’t think so, too early to tell, but I don’t think it works like that. Though it’ll be interesting to see how he raises them. They already follow him around like a pack of geese.”

 

Dorna giggled, shaking the sleeping pup awake, his blurry gaze looking up at her grumpily for a moment, before closing again. She sighed. “The North is a strange place, Samwell. Marvelous, but strange.”

 

“Aye, it is.” Sam laughed. He pushed a black pup down his chest, allowing another to take its place, sniffing near his neck. Dorna watched how the pups seemed to draw near him, leaning into his touch, like they were learning him. His voice broke her out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Oh, you absolutely did mean to scare me, Samwell Tarly,” Dorna said pursing her lips at him.

 

“Aye, I guess I did.” Sam shifted and turned in her direction. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.”

 

Dorna hummed at him, staring at his profile. She placed a hand on her forehead. “What was that thing you did with the…”

 

“Something I should not have done, My Lady,” Sam said harshly. “Something forbidden.” His tone set the wolf pups all whining, including their mother.

 

Dorna was about to begin a new set of questions that she knew were unwelcome when a shadow passed over the kennel door. An Unsullied she didn’t know stood there, staring at them with an uncharacteristic smile for one of his kind.

 

“The king summons the council, My Lord,” said the Unsullied, eyeing the two of them.

 

“I’ll be right there, Yellow Toad,” said Sam. He gently untangled the pile of pups from his lap, setting them near enough their mother to find her teats. Dorna took the little grey one in her lap and set him next to his siblings, watching in amusement as he pushed his way into the fray of wiggling legs and stiff trembling tails.

 

She took Sam’s outstretched hand and let him pull her to her feet, straw and other nameless things falling to the ground. Sam was giving her an odd look, he frowned for a moment and then motioned to her cheek, letting the hand fall back to his side loosely. “You’ve blood on your face, My Lady.”

 

“Oh, seems we’ve made a habit of that,” Dorna said, brushing a sleeve across the side of her face. “Did I get it?”

 

Sam furrowed his brow then with a small shake of his head he sighed. “You didn’t.” He took a step away from her. “I’ll escort you to your chambers, you may need a proper wash to get it clean.” Then he ran an eye down the front of her dress. “Mayhaps a change of clothes as well.”

 

Dorna took his arm when he offered it, glad that Samwell knew the way.

 

++++

 

“Have you read this?” The King said, holding up a scroll to Princess Sansa. “I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

 

Little Sam watched from his place in the corner of the council chamber beside Davos. They were all gathered around the large map table, including the new additions of the Queen and her advisors Lady Missandei and Lord Commander Grey Worm.

 

“I have,” Sansa said, folding her hands in her lap and frowning.

 

“Word from Riverrun,” The King said, looking around at all those assembled, lingering on the Queen sitting across from him for a beat. “Lord Edmure Tully has married his eldest son Hoster,” The king took a labored breath, his face souring. “to Eliana Martell, daughter of Princess Arianne.”

 

“Stupid fook,” muttered Davos next to him. Sam looked over at the old smuggler, who only shook his head.

 

“And,” the King continued over the whispering, though he only looked at the stoic silver Queen across from him, “forcibly married Beth Blackwood to the Martell’s other son, Doran.”

 

The chatter increased, but then the Queen’s voice cut above it, “That boy is base-born, what would Tully hope to gain?”

 

“The boy was legitimized,” said Sansa.

 

“I signed no decree…” the Queen started.

 

“It could have something to do with the surprise guest at the weddin’,” the King said quietly. “Lord Tyrion didn’t head to the Westerlands, he’s there at Riverrun.”

 

Something dangerous glided over the Queen’s face, Sam could see her jowls tighten, nostrils flared. A look passed between the King and Queen, but neither said a word.

 

“Varys is there too.”

 

This time, it was Princess Arya who leaned forward in her seat. “Jon?”

 

“I don’t need you runnin’ off, Sister,” the King said, shaking his head. “We’ve the people in place to do whatever we need. Though,” he sighed, “I’d rather leave Varys where he is, the more players we have the better.”

 

A murmur of agreement rose over the group, though the Queen frowned at them all. “And Tyrion?”

 

“He’s your hand, I’ll leave that up to you, Your Grace,” Jon Snow said, nodding at her. “We’ll discuss it after the meetin’.”

 

“Meera is there, Jon,” Arya said.

 

“Aye, whatever we decide I’m sure she’ll be about to handle it.” The King looked at them all. “I’m sure you know what this means, especially you sisters.” He nodded in the direction of the two princesses. “If you’ve qualms about fighting your family, I understand, but I’ll do whatever is necessary for the North and its people.”

 

“Uncle Edmure made his choice long ago, brother,” Sansa said leaning back in her seat. “Mother always said he was a fool.”

 

The King nodded. “I want you all to think on this news and we’ll reconvene in the morning, perhaps we can have a strategy in place before something else happens we don’t expect.”

 

Silently, the group rose, save for the King and Queen. Sam rose to follow Davos out of the door but was stopped by the voice of his King.

 

“Not you, Sam.”

 

Little Sam hunched his shoulders and took a deep breath, turning back to face the two most powerful people in the North, maybe all of Westeros. He expected he was about to chided by at least one of them. He heard the door shut tightly behind him.

 

“Arya told me what happened,” the King said frowning at him. “You know you can’t lose control like that. She also told me you frightened the Lannister girl.”

 

“Dorna?” The Queen said looking at him sharply.

 

Sam lowered his eyes from her steely gaze, swallowing. “I didn’t mean it to happen, I just…”

 

“I heard of the freefolk girl as well.” The King had stepped towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I too met a wildling girl kissed by fire, it took knowing her to know the kind of woman that’s best for a man.” He cleared his throat briefly, then stepped back from Sam. The Queen had an unreadable expression on her face, perhaps if he knew her better, he would have known what that look in her lilac eyes meant while she tracked the steps of the King back to the tableside.

 

“How soon can you get a message to the Riverland’s?” The King said quietly.

 

“As long as the wolves are ranging where they should be...” Sam looked over the map, calculating the miles and growing weary at the thought. “By tonight, I suppose.”

 

“Good.” The King nodded.

 

“So soon?” the Queen asked frowning between them. “A Raven would take at least two days.”

 

“I’ll explain it, all of it,” the King said. “After we’ve decided what must be done about Lord Tyrion.” He turned to Sam. “You’ve been spending time with the Lannister girl, I’ve had the Queen’s opinion. What do you think of her, can she be trusted?”

 

“I’ve spoken to her about the Princess and…” Sam paused trying to put into words his impression of Lady Dorna. “She has a good heart, I think.”

 

The Queen of the North and South snorted into her hand. Sam frowned at her. She looked up at him, amusement written behind her eyes. “Forgive me, reminded me of an old jape I heard once.”

 

“None of that,” the King sighed, but when he glanced over at his Queen a smile played against his lips. He turned back to Sam, serious again. “We’ll let you know as soon as a decision has been made.”

 

“No need to wait,” the Queen cut in. “I need to look into the man’s eyes, I want him here.”

 

“It could complicate things,” the King said. “Especially if the girl loves him as you’ve said.”

 

“Then she should be allowed to say her goodbyes.” Once again, some silent agreement passed between the two of them. The King only nodded and turned back to Sam.

 

“You heard your Queen. We want him headed north as soon as possible. But,” Jon Snow’s expression turned far more serious. “be careful.”

 

“I will,” Sam said and then bowed to the two of them. His hand was on the latch when the Queen’s voice called out.

 

“Lord Samwell.” He turned back, the queen had her eyes narrowed in an appraising way. “The Lady Dorna is quite clever, seek her counsel, ask her questions.”

 

“About what, Your Grace?” Sam asked furrowing his brow.

 

The Queen gave a shrug. “About anything.”

 

Confused, Sam could only nod and stepped out into the hallway. Before the door was closed he heard the King mutter something that sounded like,“You’re bloody wicked sometimes, you know that?” Whatever it was it caused the amused laugh of the Queen to follow his retreating steps.

 

 

++++

 

 

He laid abed, but his mind was far away with jitters over the Hornwood, searching for a tether, fighting against a strong headwind that caused his little eyes to blink rapidly. Finally, after an age, the whispering presence of a wolf below tickled at his mind and he slid from his little friend, finding himself bounding through the thick wood, ferns battering his face, the scent of a dozen types of game distracting the wolf beside his mind, but Sam kept to his task, ignoring the urge for blood and gore. Another tether, another leap and he was across the White Knife heading further south, racing across a field of flowered heather. Leap after leap, each wolf accepting his presence like the brother he was, brought about by careful nurturing from the kennel to the wild woods.

 

Sam leaned into the connection like a man leaned into the wind on top of the tallest peak or the swift rush of a river current. He knew with the simplest break in the connection he could find himself snapped back into his bed or possibly worse, but the feel of ground beneath his paws, the scratch of them as he leapt over a downed tree or the feel of the wind whipping his fur; the pure joy of not just being Sam, but also a wolf as well, held the tether tight. Given time and opportunity, he could know every bird in the sky, every horse in the field. He may not have a wolf to call his own, but he was a brother to all beasts of the land and sky, a son to nature as it was for his kind going back to the very first men that saw through the eyes of the lesser beasts.

 

Moat Cailin was a flurry of activity when it flashed by, the Twins off in the distance as he ran along the crest of a high hill. Another wood, this one smelling of strange trees, the wet ground and frequent rain kept the scent of game away from his keen smell, which made the scent he sought all the easier to find. People, not just any, but those of his pack, those of the North. He was led to a thicket of trees.

 

The sun had gone when he burst from the brush causing the figures around the fire to scatter in every direction, save for one. The Lady Meera gave a small smile when he approached her eagerly. Sam reached out, like a man searching for a foothold on a narrow cliff face, carefully one toe at a time, leaning against the pull that wanted to yank him back over a thousand miles to his bed. Lightly, he brushed the place in her mind that accepted such things.

 

_“Bring the Imp.”_


End file.
